


Marriage by Terms

by AngelsofGlory666



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dominant Bottom, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Oblivious John, Omega Sherlock, Pining, Pregnant Sex, Sherlock wooing, Submissive Alpha John, Vanilla Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 77,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsofGlory666/pseuds/AngelsofGlory666
Summary: Sherlock never thought he'd fully mature as an omega because he was so lean of frame. He didn't mind though. He was happy with the way things were going. When Sherlock finally matured at thirty-six, he'd been less than pleased with his family signing him up for an alpha/omega matchmaking service. He'd wanted to refuse, but if he did he would lose his trust fund, inheritance, and he'd be blacklisted. So Sherlock came up with his own requirements for an alpha bond mate. One he'd thought his mother would never find, and being so arrogant, Sherlock promised that if his mother could find such an alpha, he'd marry them. Sherlock never thought his mother would find him, but when she did, Sherlock was left with no other option but to marry the alpha. Sherlock though, would not conform, not entirely. If he were forced to marry than this marriage would be on his terms, damn if the alpha turned out to be a good man who just wanted to love him. Sherlock would not give. Not even an inch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is being reposted along with some of my other works. I deleted all my stories in a moment of anger because of a hurtful comment. It was one of the worst and cruelest... 
> 
> I'm getting angry again remembering it. Moving on, I received a message from a reader after having deleted everything. They reminded me of why I started writing. They felt for my stories the way I felt for fan fiction. I realized I shouldn't hurt others just because of one stupid jerk. So, sorry to my readers. I don't usually get like this but... yeah, never had a comment like that ass's before. Sorry, still angry. It will take some time to work through that anger. 
> 
> Anyways, I will slowly post my stories back up on AO3. It might take a month or so, but I'll finish eventually.

Sherlock knew this day might come. He hated this part of himself. His status, he’d grown to accept. But an omega heat cycle... To be overcome by a lustful need, a desire to find an alpha and be taken—No, it just wasn’t right. He was sure there would be pleasure and he’d gain ultimate satisfaction from the interaction, but all that was momentary and it wouldn’t give him the high of solving a complex equation or case. 

Sherlock didn’t reach full maturity at age twelve as most omegas did. It was strange, but given how lean he was, understandable. For thirty-six years Sherlock never, not once, had an alpha approached him with interest. He didn’t fit the normal characteristics of an omega. Omegas were short, full figured, and had wide set hips. Sherlock was tall, slim in frame, and had boney, narrow hips. Naturally, alphas thought his form to be unattractive and believed in the superstitions that such an omega would be unable to birth them sufficient pups. It was ridiculous as Sherlock’s gynecologist mentioned time and time again how _extraordinarily_ fertile he was. The insipid woman had even joked with Sherlock’s parents that all an alpha would need to do was give him the hairy eye and he’d be up the duff. Sherlock didn’t laugh, didn’t even validate that she’d spoken. _Oooh_ , but how his parents had laughed. Even _Mycroft_ , the tosser, had been amused.

When Sherlock experienced his first heat, he’d been stunned. He’d thought since he remained slim of frame it’d somehow diminished his chances of fully maturing as an omega, but maybe his body just took longer to shift because of it. Still, his heat came in the end and his brain had fogged, his intelligence shrank and he’d been driven by lust. He’d spent three long days bringing himself off. He was mortified that he’d resorted to shoving a riding crop deep inside his entrance, rubbing the leather flap repeatedly against his pleasure point, fucking it wildly and sobbing out in sorrow, needing more and never having the means to give it to himself. 

The moment his heat fizzed out there had been a knock at his door and Sherlock’s wits having returned to him, knew it was his intrusive, but well meaning brother, Mycroft. He was always watchful of Sherlock. Sherlock knew Mycroft set hidden cameras in his flat and he’d removed them every chance he got, but knew they’d just be replaced by more well hidden ones.

He’d allowed the pale gentleman into his home and taken to seating himself in his gray leather chair, lounging comfortably on it in his sleepwear. Watching Mycroft carefully as he moved to seat himself across from him on the red chair, and inhaled the stale scent of a recently in heat omega. Brows furrowing with annoyance, Mycroft glared back at Sherlock. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to be here either.” Mycroft grumbled shifting uncomfortably in his chair and Sherlock smirked, knowingly. The gentleman’s alpha senses were put off at the scent of his brother’s recent sexual activities. 

“Then _why_ are you here?” Sherlock grumbled back.

Mycroft exhaled a heavy breath, retrieved his suitcase, placing it on his lap, he flipped it open and took out a hefty folder. 

Sherlock eyed it warily as Mycroft offered it to him. 

“What is it?”

“Read it.” 

Sherlock huffed impatiently and snatched it from the other man. Slinking back into his seat, throwing his legs over one side of the chair’s handle while pressing his back against the other side, Sherlock flipped it open and read it.

Silence followed as Sherlock’s anger grew. His lips pursed into a deep frown and cold blue pierced Mycroft’s.

“Mummy’s idea?”

“Yes.” Mycroft answered simply.

“You told her I’ve presented?”

“I had to.”

“No you didn’t! You did it because you knew she’d want _this_.” Sherlock sat upright and shook the folder in his hand for emphasis.

Mycroft glanced at the folder then to Sherlock once more.

“You’re thirty-six years old. I think you’ve waited long enough.”

“No.”

“It’s not a choice.”

Sherlock glared daggers.

“I won’t let mum put me in an alpha/omega matchmaking service.”

“You will, or you’ll be cut off and I don’t think you’ll be able to survive without your trust fund.”

“I can manage.”

“I’ll blacklist you. You’ll never find a job and I’ll contact the NSY to make sure you never consult with them.”

Sherlock felt heat rise to his face, his body trembling, fingers twitching, nails lengthening into threatening claws with the intent to mutilate the alpha in front of him. 

Mycroft smirked knowing he’d won and snapped his suitcase closed and stood to his feet. 

“I’m glad to see you’ve agreed. Mummy will be in touch.” Mycroft called as he shut the door behind him on his way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock sat across from a bulky alpha in a posh restaurant. His cold eyes staring menacingly at the redhead, he didn’t bother to remember the alpha’s name. The man smiled shyly at him. He was hansom enough, but Sherlock could care less about looks. He smelled of bath salts and oatmeal, bitter and strong to Sherlock’s senses.

Sherlock hated him.

“So how do—”

Sherlock didn’t bother waiting to hear what the man would say. Stood from his seat and strode out the restaurant without a glance back. 

As Sherlock strolled down the streets of London city, he dialed a number ferociously and the moment he heard the sweet greeting of his mother, he snapped.

“I hate redheads!”

“Oh, dear. _Sherlock_. Did you leave that sweet alpha, already?”

“He smelled bad.”

Mrs. Holmes chuckled with amusement.

“I met him, dear. He was a well-mannered alpha and smelled just fine.”

“Too muscular.”

“So no redheads and less muscular alphas?”

Sherlock growled, not wanting another match, but knowing that was out of the question, he let out a noise of agreement. 

“Is there a type you like? It would be helpful if you gave me something to work with?” 

Sherlock thought for a moment.

“Blond.”

“Aw, just like your mummy.” Mrs. Holmes giggled. 

Sherlock frowned, and amended, “Sandy blond.” 

“Okay. Anything else?”

An idea clicked and Sherlock grinned wildly.

“Yes. I want an older alpha, between thirty-seven and forty-five. He must be short, 5’7 to 5’9. Not muscular, but not lean, just so. He has to be strong physically, but look innocently docile and unintimidating. He must smell sweet, _really sweet_. And… I want an alpha submissive.”

Silence was his answer and Sherlock felt victorious. Alphas were tall, muscular, strong, overbearing, and they _never_ smelled sweet. Finding a submissive alpha was virtually impossible, they were extremely rare. His requirements would be hard to match and the likelihood that such an alpha existed and that they were still unbound at such an age was slim to none. 

“Sherlock…” Mrs. Holmes began, ready to reason with Sherlock’s unfair demands.

“That’s what I want mummy. I’ll marry such an alpha.” Sherlock promised proudly, knowing his mother would never find that kind of alpha and therefore ensuring he’d never mate. 

A loaded silence was his answer.

“You swear to that, Sherlock?”

“I do.” 

“Would you be willing to sign a contract that if I find such an alpha, you will marry him on the spot and if you refuse you’ll lose your trust fund, inheritance, and be blacklisted?”

Sherlock hesitated. His requirements were rather difficult…but still. The likelihood of finding an unbound alpha submissive of that age wasn’t… it just wasn’t probable. There was less than a handful of alpha submissives in the entire world and he was most certain he’d read somewhere that they were all bonded. 

It might have been that he was feeling overly confident, but Sherlock answered, “Bring the contract over, I’m heading to the flat now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight months came and went without his mother arranging another meeting for him and Sherlock lived in his solitude, happily. He’d started taking suppressants after his first heat and didn’t plan on stopping. He wouldn’t mind living his whole life on them if it meant he’d never have to go through the humiliation of a heat again. He couldn’t even look at his riding crop the same way after his first.

Sherlock had just finished solving a case for the NSY when he received a phone call from his mother.

The moment he’d answered the call his mother was giggling with joy and speaking to someone on her end.

“Mum?” Sherlock greeted, slipping into a taxi.

“Oh, Sherlock, I’ve found him!” Mrs. Holmes squealed gleefully. 

“Found who?” Sherlock stammered, his stomach knotting with nerves, not knowing what she was talking about, but unsettled by the possibility of what it might be.

“I found your alpha submissive!” Mrs. Holmes giggled.

Sherlock paled. His mother found him…his alpha submissive? That didn’t make sense! There wasn’t supposed to be one out there for him! No… 

_God… No…_

“Sherlock?” Mrs. Holmes asked when Sherlock said nothing.

“I’m here.” Sherlock croaked, at last finding his voice.

“Come home and meet him. He’s such a dear. I’ll be making your favorite, roasted lamb. It’s your fiancé’s favorite too!” 

_Fiancé? The contract… Good, Lord, no…_

Sherlock leaned forward, overwhelmed, having the sudden urge to retch. 

“Sherlock, dear, did you hear me?”

“I—I’ll head over.” Sherlock rasped weakly. 

The contract… He’d signed the contract. If he refused, he’d lose his trust fund and his inheritance. Mycroft would have him blacklisted and he’d never work as a consulting detective for the rest of his life. The money, the inheritance, he cared little about, not like he cared about his work. To never consult on another case for the NSY, to never feel the thrill of danger and the euphoria of solving a complicated case again… Sherlock couldn’t endure it. 

Marriage? Marriage though… Being an omega to an alpha submissive... How could Sherlock possibly… 

Sherlock shook his head. He needed his work; he’d have to make it work, on his terms. He’d agreed to marry, but that didn’t mean he agreed to change. What was marriage really? Some papers that said you were recognized as legal partners, a sharing of possessions that was all really. Sherlock could do that. He’d still take his suppressants; he’d be civil with his alpha, but he’d make it clear to the man that their union would be on paper only, and that there was no need for any more than that. If this alpha submissive decided he couldn’t wed under such conditions, the alpha could call off the wedding, than Sherlock wouldn’t have broken the rules of the contract he’d signed and he’d be free to live his life as he’d wanted to, alone. 

Sherlock grinned, a sense of relief filling his once on edge being. 

_Oh, yes! Of course! A marriage of convenience so I can continue doing what I love. This could work._

  



	2. Chapter 2

For many years John lived happily with his parents and his sister Harry, but then his parents died in a tragic car accident. John was sixteen and his sister was fifteen. Their parents death struck deep and they felt the loss of them more when their mother’s estranged older sister, Mona took them in. 

Aunt Mona was their only living relative they had. They’d never met her before their parents death, because their mother never got along with her. Mona was the lovechild of John’s grandfather. Mona was raised separately until her mother passed away, after that John’s grandfather took her into his home and raised her. There had always been tension in the house after that and after his grandfather died, Mona and John's mother broke ties. 

Aunt Mona said the only reason she was taking them in was because their grandfather and grandmother had been kind to her. Aunt Mona wasn’t kind to them though. She was strict, unbending, and only had harsh things to say. Harry hated her and stayed out late many nights, choosing to sleep over at her friend's place rather than stay home with their aunt. John buried himself with schoolwork and ignored her as much as he could, but she was far more unkind to John than Harry. Aunt Mona didn’t like that John looked more like his mother. She liked to belittle John about his looks, how even though he was an alpha he didn’t look appropriate. How he’d never attract a mate with his looks. John knew he didn’t look like most alphas and it did bother him, but there really wasn’t much he could do to change it. 

John was an alpha submissive and kept this secret from his Aunt Mona. His parents knew he was an alpha submissive, but they were gone now, and the only one left that knew was Harry. He knew she’d never tell anyone. John didn’t tell Mona, she was cruel enough as it was and he didn’t think he could tolerate the unkind words she’d utter with this discovery.

Alpha submissives were much the same as alphas, except for when mating. Alphas went into rut when scenting an omega was in heat, but an alpha submissive went into heat much like an omega did every three months. Thankfully suppressants were an over the counter drug that John bought himself monthly and hid them under his mattress out of view from Mona. 

When John turned eighteen he’d found himself a job and moved out of his aunt’s home. John applied to college and got in on scholarship. Harry moved in with him a year later and the two never really kept in touch with their aunt after that. 

Harry got a job and went to school much like John and the two lived contentedly together for several years. Harry graduated college first, as John decided he wanted to become a doctor and it would take him far longer to finish his education. Harry majored in social science and philosophy and soon got a job at a local college. John was happy for her, but he’d still felt a pang of sadness when she’d decided it was time that she move out of their flat and get a place of her own. Even after Harry moved out the two kept in touch, but it wasn’t the same. They hardly ever saw each other, but they did call and text every few days. 

John started working at the hospital as an intern and his days were spent interacting with patients and home alone, in solitude. John was lonely. He lived his days outside of work in stillness and longing for excitement. 

John wasn’t handsome and because he didn’t look like a typical alpha he wasn’t approached by many suitors. Most liked to believe alphas that looked like John weren’t virile. Those who did approach him did so out of curiosity, wanting to test such theories. John ignored these advances. 

Intimacy… John wanted it. What healthy man wouldn’t, but it really wasn’t worth it. The advances he’d gotten weren’t of genuine interest, and John didn’t want something meaningless. There was also the matter of him being a secreted alpha submissive. 

John knew how rare an alpha submissive was and that if he were to register himself as one he’d immediately be on the headline news. He’d become an instant celebrity and then… only _then_ would thousands of interested unbound potential omegas compete for his attention. 

An alpha submissive was known for being possessive, protective, gentle, and a loving mate. An alpha submissive was monogamous and mated only once, just like their intended counterpart omegas. Omegas, more than anything in the world, wanted an alpha that would cherish them. Alphas tended to be in polygamous relationships and many omegas suffered immense pain in such partnerships.

John thought about it more than once, registering, but John didn’t want to give up the privacy of his life thus far. He didn’t want to be hounded by omegas, begging and prostrating for him, John wanted to find an omega the old fashioned way. Bump into a handsome stranger, talk, develop a close friendship, and when John felt he was ready he’d confess to that omega his true status and desire to mate for life. Then they’d sync their heats and bond. 

That didn’t happen. John grew older, became a certified trauma doctor, and still never met anyone. John then felt the call to join the army and become an army medic and he’d signed up after informing his sister. Harry worried about him, but he had her support, and he felt reassured she’d be safe because Harry had Clare now. So John left England for the army and things were good for a time. John got to experience the excitement and thrill that came with the war; he got to save lives, became Captain and earned the respect of many. 

John was then transferred to Afghanistan and his life changed forever. He’d been shot and sent back invalid. He gained a tremor in his hand that destroyed his life as a surgeon and was left with no means of the life he’d once had. His only friend was that of his cane and limp. 

John wondered why he should even try living this kind of sad life. He didn’t want to live a lonely life such as this. Then John stumbled upon an article. It was about the most recent alpha submissive to have publicly registered themselves. The submissive alpha and his lovely omega were interviewed about their marriage and how they felt now that they were expecting their first litter of pups. John looked at the photos of the couple, so happy, so in love.

In a moment of desperation, of longing for that same happiness, John left his pitifully small flat and registered himself as an alpha submissive. It was later that evening that he’d received a knock at his door. 

Confused who it could be, John limped over to it and swung it open and found a tall, pale gentleman standing in front of him. Leaning on his expensive long gray umbrella, much like John did with his cane, the gentleman raised the envelope he’d dropped off no more than four hours earlier at the post office.

“You sent this, did you not?” The man said, sparing greetings.

John’s brows furrowed.

“Who are you?” John pursed his lips in a scowl. 

“You’re an alpha submissive?” The gentleman asked, ignoring John’s question.

“Yes, but who are you?” John insistently asked.

“The government which you intend to register with.”

John didn’t think he’d be visited by a government official so quickly, he’d heard that it took two weeks to have a representative come to meet an alpha submissive. 

“May I come in?”

John paused for a moment, and then stepped aside to allow the man in. What he had not expected was for another gentleman to enter, carrying a small leather bag in hand. John watched surprised when the second man popped out from the side of the hall and entered. He made his way over to John’s small table, set his bag down, opened it and retrieved sterilized medical equipment containing what John knew to be an alpha submissive kit. 

“Do you mind if we skip the introductions and get to the testing first. I need to be certain you are what you say you are.”

John watched as the first gentleman tucked away the envelope in his coat pocket and seated himself in one of the chairs at the small table. The other man finished setting up the kit, pulled out a chair and wordlessly waited for John to take a seat in it.

John nervously seated himself down and allowed the man to get a sample of his saliva and several more of his blood. After the man finished, he packed up his things, nodded to the taller gentleman and exited the flat. 

“That’s it?” John asked.

“No. We wait for his call. There’s a van outside that he’ll use to test your DNA, it shouldn’t be that long.”

“This is… what happens with all alpha submissives?” John had never heard of an alpha submissive being approached in such a rushed manner. They usually went to the hospital with a government official to perform these tests.

“No. Just you.” The pale gentleman smirked and John felt uneasy.

Maybe he shouldn’t have registered? Being alone wasn’t so bad was it? This… It all felt a bit strange.

“Why register now? Not when you presented?” The man questioned, reflecting over the possibilities.

“A lot of reasons really, but mostly because I wasn’t ready.” John glanced over to the table.

“You’re ready now though?” The man raised a brow with deliberation as if to weigh his seriousness.

“Yes.” John answered honestly. 

John was ready. He wasn’t ready for the chaos of being registered and being in the eye of the media, but he was certainly ready to find the perfect omega. John was ready to fall in love and start a family. 

Silence followed, it was a lengthy tense silence that seemed never ending. The gentleman seated comfortably in his chair staring perceptively at him, while John stared back uncertainly. 

“What is your name?” John finally found the courage to ask, though knowing the man might not give it or lie.

The gentleman stared on, regarding whether or not he should say.

“Mycroft.”

“Mycroft…” John waited for a last name.

Mycroft just smiled, but did not elaborate. 

“Right.” John huffed.

Again silence fell. The two stared at each other; John felt that Mycroft’s gaze was far more piercing, as if he could read every thought running through his mind.

“You’re not going to say anything until the results come in?” John could hardly believe this.

Mycroft smiled again.

Silence followed once more, hours worth.

. . .

John couldn’t take the silent staring match any longer and rose from his chair.

“Tea?” John offered.

“No, thank you.”

John brewed himself a pot of tea and just as he’d seated himself with a cup, Mycroft’s phone rang. The pale gentleman answered it on the third ring and received the news John already knew himself.

“Well, now will you tell me everything?”

Mycroft smiled _again_. 

A knock on his door had John up and answering it. A suited woman with a scowl on her face entered his flat without invitation, walked up to Mycroft and handed him a folder. John watched agitatedly as the woman then swiftly exited his home and he purposefully slammed the door after her.

John wandered back over to the table and sat in his seat waiting for an explanation. 

“Normally, your registration papers would have been sent to a government official and they’d have sent someone to escort you to take your test, then they would have finished registering you into their data base, and sent out your status to registered unbound omegas. You would have been allowed to meet each and choose who would be your mate, but that is not what is happening with you.”

“It’s not?” John was distrustful.

“No. You will be the bond mate to an already chosen omega.”

John laughed.

“That’s not how it works. I get to date and fall in love.”

“Normally, that is done, as I’ve said earlier, but this is not a typical situation.”

“Why?”

Mycroft’s lips thinned displeased with John’s inability to readily conform.

“The omega that has been chosen desperately needs a bond mate. He’s already so much older than all the other unbound omegas, and if he isn’t bound soon, he might never be.”

John’s interest flared.

“How old.”

“Thirty-six.”

John choked on his tea mid-sip. 

“ _Thirty six?_ ” John was more than stunned. 

Omegas presented between the ages of twelve to sixteen, these omegas were bound soon after they’d fully matured. As far as John knew the oldest reported omega to have presented was a twenty-eight year old woman, but she’d been slim of frame which explained why it’d taken her so long to present. 

John pitied this older omega. He could understand Mycroft’s insistency to have this omega bond quickly. An omega of that age… It would be near impossible to have them bonded with a worthy suitor. Most alphas were vain and liked taking young omegas as bond mates. The best chance this omega had was to mate with an alpha that had more than one omega bond mate. John had seen many alpha’s in the middle east demonstrate such practices, these alphas had large harems of omegas and it had disgusted him. John had seen the pain, the hurt, and betrayal they’d felt when their alpha showed interest to another omega. 

Omegas were tender, sensitive beings, no matter if they appeared strong and unyielding on the outside. Omegas mated once and having to endure their alpha taking on other mates silently destroyed them. John knew he’d feel the same if he were to bond and have a mate cheat on him. An alpha submissive was the best partner for an omega, they were the intended bond mate for an omega, but there were so few left. 

It hadn’t been too long ago that alpha submissives had been sought out and killed by alphas. Alphas didn’t like competing for omegas, and an omega was rightfully attracted to an alpha submissive because nature intended for them to be. For a long time the government overlooked these actions, but some in power would not let this injustice go on. Then parliament finally ruled the act heinous and unlawful, and alpha submissives where at last given full rights as citizens and protected under the government. It was another reason why the government wanted alpha submissives registered. They wanted to protect them, to help them bond and mate and produce more alpha submissives in the world. 

Only thirty-nine years ago, John’s kind would have been murdered, but now he sat across from a government official talking about bonding with an omega. John did want to bond. He truly did. He’d love to find an omega to love and he’d treat them with all the kindness he possessed. He’d adore them, protect them, and show them an unwavering devotion and faithfulness only an alpha submissive could. 

“You will be substantially rewarded. You’ll never want for anything.”

John scowled; he wasn’t going to be bought.

“I want to meet this omega first.”

“Not until you’ve agreed to take him as you’re bond mate.”

“I’m sorry, but I will not agree to marry someone I haven’t even spoken to.”

Mycroft inhaled a deep breath, and exhaled slowly as he calmed himself.

“You need the help I can offer, if not for the money, than think of your sister.”

“What about my sister.” John growled threateningly.

“She’s dying, is she not? She needs a liver, but they won’t put her on the donor list because she has a history of alcoholism.”

It was a painful truth that John was still trying to come to terms with, but the way this man said it clinically without feeling, tore at his heart.

“I can save her life if you agree to bond and marry this omega.”

John remained still, staring in disbelief.

“How?” John finally asked.

“I can put her on the top of the donor list, not just here, but every other country; she’ll receive the liver as soon as you marry the omega. I promise you this.”

John should have asked for more time to think it over, but this was Harry they were talking about. Harry, his sister, the last remaining member of his family he actually cared about. For Harry he could kill, for Harry he could die, for Harry he could marry.

“I’ll bond and marry this omega.” John stated clearly, purposefully. “Save my sister’s life and I’ll do anything you ask.”

Mycroft’s smile was smug, much like a cat that’d caught its canary. Handing over the folder he’d been given earlier, Mycroft waited for John to take it.

John didn’t stop to ask what it was, simply took it and read it. It contained information about his intended. There was no photograph, but a brief physical description of the omega in question was given.

_Name: William Sherlock Scott Holmes (goes by Sherlock)_  
Status: Omega  
Date of Birth: 1/6/1979  
Hair: Black  
Eyes: Blue  
Height: 6’0  
Weight: 158 

John 's brows furrowed, of course this omega hadn’t presented until he was thirty-six, he was obviously lean for an omega. John read on further, the omega was intelligent; he’d attended well known private schools throughout all his life. Schools that prided themselves in only accepting gifted children. Sherlock finished high school at fourteen and was then transferred to college. He’d attained majors in several fields of science and one major in criminology. He consulted with the New Scotland Yards and there were even some newspaper clippings on some of the cases he’d worked on.

When John was half way through the folder, he raised his head up and stared back at Mycroft. John hadn’t yet met this Sherlock, but through reading his profile he knew there wouldn’t be a dull moment between them.

“Even if I agree to bond with this omega, what is to say he will want me?”

“No need to worry about that. You fit his description rather perfectly. It almost seems predestined.” Mycroft simpered uncharacteristically. 

“Oh.” John mumbled, glancing back at the folder for a brief moment.

“There are some things we have yet to discuss.”

Mycroft had John’s full attention again.

“Like?”

“I am Sherlock’s older brother, and you are never to let Sherlock learn of this discussion we’ve had today. He is to believe you’ve placed yourself in an alpha/omega matchmaking service and were matched through such a system. He would not tolerate my involvement or your deception, if ever it were discovered.” 

“You want me to lie to him?” John bulked. 

“Sherlock… isn’t the easiest person to handle and he wouldn’t like the terms of which you were matched. In the end though, how you two met isn’t as important as to how you make this bond work. Lying about how you met is a small sacrifice you’ll be making to ensure your sister lives.” Mycroft contemplated. 

“You’re… sick.” John snarled, but didn’t refuse; he couldn’t. He needed to save his sister and he was willing to do anything.

Lying to his future bond mate and husband… John hated the idea and felt guilt for already thinking about the years they would spend together. John portraying himself as something he wasn’t… but Harry… for Harry he would lie. John would do anything for Harry. Sherlock… He would make it up to him. He would dote on him and care for him for the rest of his life, amending the betrayal he’d have started the foundations of their marriage on. 

“I am what I have to be.” Mycroft said bluntly, lips thinned into a grimace.

Mycroft _Holmes_ stood from the chair, stared down at the simmering John and paused for a brief moment. Almost as if he felt accountable for the deception they were to commit. 

“My mother will be in touch and you will undoubtedly be invited for dinner to meet the family and Sherlock. I will arrange the marriage to be preformed the day after and ensure Harriet get’s her liver as soon as the marriage is legalized.” Mycroft said and turned to leave, but came to a sudden stop and turned back to meet John’s stare once more.

“There is a contract stating the terms of which this marriage will be performed under in the back of the folder. Sign the contract and I’ll have someone pick it up tomorrow morning. It will be notarized and someone will send you back a copy.”

With that, Mycroft left John to further contemplate the madness that had now become his life. John stared blankly at his shut door wondering what he was supposed to do now. One part of him was pleased with himself, by registering and agreeing to this bond he was ensuring Harry’s survival. Another part of him was dreading the actions that would lead him down a lifelong path of lies to an omega he was supposed to care for and protect. 

How could John protect his future husband from himself?

  



	3. Chapter 3

It was a week after Mycroft Holmes entered John’s life and upended everything, that he received a phone call from an overly cheerful woman. She’d immediately introduced herself as John’s future mother-in-law, Elaina Holmes. John could barely talk, but even if he could he hardly doubted he’d get word in edgeways as Mrs. Holmes (John refused to call her mother, as she’d encouraged him to do) rambled incessantly.

Mrs. Holmes had been agonizing over her son Sherlock’s need for seclusion and thus living a very lonely life. He wasn’t all that social. No matter how much Mrs. Holmes tried to introduce Sherlock to potential bond mates, he’d always evaded her attempts. As Mrs. Holmes continued to tell John about the countless efforts she’d made to find him a mate, John felt all the more sorry for this Sherlock. If he had a mother like Mrs. Holmes, John was sure he’d have gone bald from pulling his hair out. 

Towards the end of Mrs. Holmes’ call, she’d blubbered, thanking John profusely for agreeing to this match. She’d also adamantly apologized for Mycroft’s not too subtle forcing of an arrangement, but stressed how very important it was she have John bond with Sherlock. Sherlock was thirty six, recently presented, and unbound. The longer Sherlock went being unbound the more at risk he was of losing his sanity. It wasn’t natural for an omega to be alone. Omegas needed to bind themselves in order to thrive. Alone, unbound, they would slowly waste away and eventually die. Though Sherlock was thirty six, he hadn’t presented, so he’d been safe of this happening. However, now that he had presented, Sherlock only had so much time left. 

John managed to reassure Mrs. Holmes he wouldn’t let that happen, he’d bind himself to Sherlock and care for him as an alpha should. John meant what he said and thought it would console Mrs. Holmes, but she’d only become worse, sniffling and hiccupping sobs. A disjointed ‘ _Thank you!_ ’ came and John merely hummed his acknowledgement.

Mrs. Holmes managed to calm herself enough to invite John over for dinner the following night and informed him Mycroft would be sending a car to pick him up and take him to her home. John had promised he’d be there before they’d ended their call. 

After their rather lengthy phone chat, John seated himself on his bed, pressed his hands to his knees and stared at the wall across him, accepting what he’d agreed to. He would have dinner with the Holmeses the next night, he would meet his intended bond mate (a man he was to lie to), and the day after that he’d marry him. It was all happening so fast, but John reminded himself why he was doing this. Harry. After he married Sherlock, Mycroft would pursue finding Harry a liver and save her life. For Harry’s life he could… would do this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John would have never imagined his intended’s family was so wealthy. Sure he’d read in Sherlock’s file that he’d gone to well-known, exclusive schools, but this…

John stood in front of the Holmes’ mansion—it looked more like a medieval castle - and bit the inside of his cheek. What the hell was he to do if his intended was an entitled prat? No, John shouldn’t think so negatively. He might be a kind, understanding man. Someone John could grow to love.

An elderly plump woman opened the double doors of the home, a wide grin upon her face. 

“John, dear!” John recognized the voice as Mrs. Holmes and the woman bounded down the steps of her home to reach him.

When Mrs. Holmes stood in front of him, she hurriedly yanked him against her and gave him a warm welcoming hug. John let out a noise of surprise and awkwardly patted the woman’s back, though never fully hugging her in return. It was so foreign, having someone touch him like this, and yet… it was nice. It reminded him of the hugs he’d shared with his mother. Glancing up the steps to the open door, John was met by the sight of an elderly man, smiling kindly at him and beside him was a smirking Mycroft.

John glared at Mycroft. He would never like him, no matter if he saved his sister’s life. Mycroft was a self entitled ponce. John prayed his intended wasn’t like Mycroft. If his intended proved to be the complete opposite of Mycroft, it would be a blessing. 

Once Mrs. Holmes released him of her bear hug, he was ushered inside the home where he was kindly introduced to Mr. Holmes. John liked Mr. Holmes the most. He was a rather quiet man, who picked up on the unvoiced, and he came to John’s rescue several times as Mrs. Holmes bombarded him with questions and affection. 

John spent several hours speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, but mostly just Mrs. Holmes. She did most of the talking. They asked questions, most were easy to answer, others were more personal and John had kept those brief and to the point. When Mrs. Holmes asked about his parents, John tensed and simply answered they’d passed when he was young. Mrs. Holmes wanted to know more, but Mr. Holmes, yet again picking up on John’s discomfort, asked John a question of his own (one about his schooling) and John gratefully answered him.

Mrs. Holmes suddenly announced she would call Sherlock then and John watched as Mrs. Holmes surprise-attacked Sherlock about John’s presence. John couldn’t hear Sherlock’s response, but he wasn’t sure if his intended would be so eager to meet him. From what he’d heard, Sherlock wasn’t all that open to the idea of bonding. 

An hour into Mrs. Holmes nonsensical prattle, Mr. Holmes intervening when need be, and Mycroft’s disinterested presence, John was close to banging his head against the wall. Then the dull strumming of the doorbell filled the mansion and John’s eyes darted over to Mycroft.

Mycroft, who’d been leaning back in his chair, eyes dully staring at the ceiling, was now sat up straight, aglow, an irritatingly smug smile upon his face. The cocky sod had been waiting for this particular introduction. 

“He’s arrived!” Mrs. Holmes giggled cheerily, standing from her seat, and rushing for the door. 

John tensed in his seat, before rising from his chair and continued to wait in the living area, while simultaneously listening in as Mrs. Holmes opened the door from a distance. John heard the muffled sound of a chirpy Mrs. Holmes greeting her youngest son. There was the noticeable deep muffled voice that followed and John knew it had to be his intended. 

Moments of silence came after, then the pattering of footsteps, the steps becoming louder as they approached. John stared expectantly at the opening of the living area and when Mrs. Holmes returned embracing the arm of a tall, pale man, John felt the air dispel from his lungs.

Love at first sight. It was a saying some used. This idea was usually demonstrated in films and novels. Those in the real world who used it… John thought of them as complete idiots. There was no such thing as, ‘love at first sight’. It was more like, ‘lust at first sight’, John had thought to tell those dolts who believed in such fanciful notions. 

Now though… Staring up at this omega, tall, lean, pale, with the most fascinating shade of blue eyes (the color changing ever as he further entered the room), thin lips with the most appealing of cupid’s bow John had ever seen, fierceness in his glare, shyness in his approach, scent of vanilla, toasted sugar, and cocoa, John began to believe. This… John swallowed thickly, immediately drawn to the man… _Good, Lord, John was in love._

 _Love at first fucking sight_. John choked back a laugh of disbelief.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, piercing silver-blue eyes burning through him, dragging along the expanse of his body, slowly evaluating and deducing him.

_God, you’re really deducing me, how you do on your cases? What do you see? What can you read? Do you see my admiration? Can you sense it?_

“This is Sherlock. Sherlock dear, this is your future bond mate, John Watson.” Mrs. Holmes introduced, smiling happily.

Sherlock said nothing. He continued to stare…glower – really — but he said nothing. 

“Say hello dear.” Mrs. Holmes nudged Sherlock’s arm with her elbow, smile faltering with embarrassment when Sherlock refused to greet John.

John’s brow raised, part amusement, part fondness when Sherlock’s legs parted shoulder width apart, he tipped his head up, and his eyes stared directly into John’s own. He wasn’t submitting - he was taking on a defensive stance, not conforming in the least. Alphas would take immediate offense to the disrespectful display, but John didn’t. 

John smiled fondly at Sherlock.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for a while now.” John gave in, though traditionally an omega was to introduce themself first.

John wasn’t all that dominating a person. He was an alpha submissive; domination was not inheritably in him. Deciding to give just a bit more, John tipped his head, lowered his eyes to Sherlock’s feet and slackened his shoulders, submitting to his omega.

A sharp inhale of breath was his answer as Sherlock’s seemingly solid stance faltered. Sherlock’s shoulders turned inward and he broke eye contact to stare back at his mother, condemning.

“Sherlock.” Mrs. Holmes hissed when still Sherlock refused to acknowledge John.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Holmes.” John reassured her that he wasn’t offended. Sherlock amused him. John liked that his omega didn’t follow the social norms, it made him eccentrically appealing. 

Sherlock’s scowl hardened, eyes narrowed once more, murderous, and John couldn’t restrain the amused laughter that bubbled out of him. 

“You’re a real ball-breaker, aren’t you?” John quizzed laughter in his voice. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened in disbelief, then burned with an intensity that many would shy away from, but not John.

“Mother, why don’t we give them some privacy? I doubt Sherlock feels like he can be himself with us here.” Mycroft offered, attempting to pacify the situation.

Mrs. Holmes sighed agitatedly, but nevertheless nodded her head in agreement. John watched as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes left the room. Mycroft moved to Sherlock’s side, smirked smugly, patted the glowering young man’s shoulder and said, “Be gentle with him, Sherlock,” before exiting the room and leaving Sherlock and John alone.

John glared at Mycroft’s back as he left. When he disappeared beyond the entryway, John set his sights back on Sherlock and his features softened immediately.

“Your brother can be a real tosser.” John thought aloud, smiling shyly, unsure how Sherlock would take his dislike of Mycroft. 

Sherlock broke their gaze and walked towards the window overlooking the lush greenery of the yard out back. The light of the full moon casting a blue hue on the forest and it made everything appear enchanted. 

“It’s okay if you’re nervous. I’m a bit so myself.” John chuckled feebly, wishing Sherlock would speak.

Sherlock said nothing still, his back to him. John watched as the tall man folded his arms across his chest and stared at the yard, never turning to meet John’s pleading gaze. John wanted to make this work, but how could he make a marriage work when his omega refused to talk to him. 

“They want us to marry. Did you know that?” Sherlock finally spoke, voice deep, yet gave no hint to emotion as if he lacked the ability to feel and that disturbed John.

“I did.”

“You’re fine with this?”

“I am.”

“They are forcing me to marry you. I signed a contract, but I never thought I’d have to follow through with it… I didn’t think you existed.”

“What?”

“I asked for a certain type of alpha submissive. The likelihood of which should have been impossible to match. They found you though.” 

“Oh.” John wasn’t sure how he should feel about this. He knew he’d essentially been bribed to marry Sherlock, but the idea that Sherlock was marrying him because of a technicality… It felt too cruel.

“Why do you smell like you do?” Sherlock asked after a long period of silence.

“What?” John blanched. 

“You smell sweet.” Sherlock murmured to himself and John wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear that bit.

“Um, I don’t know. Always have.” John felt embarrassed by the sweetness of his scent. Omegas were to smell sweet, alphas were to have strong musky scents, and betas were a mixture of the two.

John always had difficultly determining his full encompassing scent, but Harry described his scent from another’s perspective. Apparently he smelled of crisp green apples, almonds, and brown sugar with a soft undertone of musk. Harry joked he’d make one hell of a dessert and John hadn’t found it the least bit funny. 

“You’ll have to move in to my place. I rather like it a lot and don’t wish to move.”

“That’s fine. My apartment is too small for the both of us any—”

“How do you feel about the violin?”

“Sorry, what?” John was at a loss.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking, and sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential bond mates should know the worst about each other.”

“I—that’s all fine.” John reassured warily, not liking just how detached Sherlock seemed about all this. Surely he could open up a little. John wouldn’t dream of asking for too much so soon, but some… _feeling_ , some acknowledgement would be welcomed.

“There is a spare room in my flat, it will be yours. I want separate rooms and somewhat separate lives. I also refuse to stop taking suppressants. I don’t want… That part of a marriage. We will marry and I’ll accept the claim bite, but I will not accept intimacy of any kind. A friendship of sorts is the only thing I will be open to. If you still wish to pursue this marriage, so be it. But if you can’t agree to these terms, refuse me now.” Sherlock spoke so quickly, it took John a moment to fully register what he’d said.

A marriage that wasn’t a marriage? John didn’t like the terms of which Sherlock was forcing on him. John wanted to bond, to mate and love his omega. To be bound to an omega that didn’t want him was a cruelty unmatched by anything else. John wanted to refuse, but then an image flashed in his mind’s eyes. 

_Harry._

John could not refuse the agreement he’d made with Mycroft. John could not refuse the terms of marriage Sherlock set out. It was a tormenting agreement with both: a marriage to save his sister and a marriage that wasn’t a marriage. 

“I… Yes, okay. I agree to your terms of this bond.” John finally spoke, though his voice was soft, weak, and brittle, on the verge of breaking, like his heart. 

The Holmeses were being too cruel, bending him to their will and he was helpless to defy them because of his love for his sister.

Sherlock’s shoulders tensed and finally he turned around to face him. Piercing blue eyes stared at him incredulously. 

“Pardon?”

“I said I agree to your terms.”

Sherlock blinked blankly, mind turning, attempting to make sense of this seemingly senseless response. Apparently, Sherlock thought he’d refuse and John might have if his sister’s life didn’t hang in the balance.

“Why?” Sherlock’s resolutely monotone voice gave way to sentiment at last and John could hear the bewilderment and panic in his voice. 

“I… I read your file and, just meeting you, I feel drawn to you. I understand you want no intimacy, but… I’d like to see where this friendship leads us. Maybe in the future you’ll become open to the idea of us being an ‘ _us_ ’.

“I highly doubt that I will.” Sherlock said unconvinced, but then paused as a thought occurred to him. “What file?”

John froze for a moment. He couldn’t let Sherlock know. It was a part of the agreement he’d made with Mycroft. He couldn’t risk Sherlock learning the truth. He needed to ensure his sister got the donor liver he’d been promised.

“A file the matchmaking service gave me.” John said the first of what he knew would be many lies to Sherlock, the man he was to marry come morning, and live the rest of his life hiding secrets from.

Sherlock stared suspiciously at him for a moment before the clattering of heels neared and both Sherlock and John turned to find Mrs. Holmes entering the living area once more, grinning like a complete nutter.

“Dears, dinner is ready. Come now, you’ll have all time to talk later. Come, come.” Mrs. Holmes ushered, rushing to Sherlock’s side and linking her arm in his before dragging him over to John where she linked her other arm in his and led them out to the dining area. 

Dinner wasn’t at all comfortable. John spent the majority of it listing to Mrs. Holmes chatter on about nothing of importance and glancing over to the other Holmeses. Mr. Holmes silently ate his meal, and contented himself in ignoring Mrs. Holmes. Mycroft stared over at John and Sherlock, as if contemplating their compatibility. Sherlock sat mutely tossing his food around on his plate with his fork and every once in a while, his eyes would rise and stare back at John. John would smile in answer, but Sherlock would then look fiercely at him before focusing on his food once more.

John hated to admit it, but he began sulking at the realization that Sherlock despised him. If Sherlock had his way he’d never marry him, never marry period. As Mrs. Holmes spoke to Mycroft, John inhaled a breath of courage and attempted to start a conversation with Sherlock. He was seated on his side of the table, an empty chair between them.

“So you’re a consulting detective. What’s it like?” 

Sherlock eyed him guardedly but said nothing. John began to wonder if Sherlock was trying to offset him in the hopes he’d refuse this arrangement, thus freeing him of the contract he’d signed. John would not refuse, he had his own contract he’d signed and wished to enact. 

“It’s okay if you’re not much of a talker.” John reassured. 

Sherlock just stared blankly at him. John sighed deeply, bowed his head and stared at his plate. 

“I… was a Captain in the army, but I was sent home invalid after being shot in Afghanistan. I’m sure you’ve already deduced everything I’m saying now, but still… I registered myself as an alpha submissive because I’m ready to bind myself and start a family. I hope, however, undesired this union feels, you will accept my affections.”

Sherlock’s fork clanked softly onto his plate, body twisting to face John’s as the omega stared him down. John felt the heat of the man’s gaze though he didn’t raise his eyes from his own plate.

“You’re right, I deduced your past the very moment I saw you, Afghanistan was one of two possibilities I considered. You might wish to shower affection on me, but I must warn you that your efforts will be a waste of time. I have no desire to be a proper husband or mate, don’t expect more than civility from me, John Watson.” Sherlock snarled his name with viciousness and John flinched at the blatant rejection. 

Through Sherlock’s cruel unforgiving words, Mr. Holmes, Mrs.Holmes, and Mycroft fell silent and listened in. This made the rejection all the crueler in John’s eyes. 

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes reprimanded. 

Sherlock scoffed angrily, the chair under him screeched back as he rose to his feet, and he slammed his palms against the dining room table and glared at each member of his family. 

“Thank you mother for this _lovely_ meal, but I must head back to the city. I have things I must do.” Sherlock sardonically said.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes pleaded.

Mycroft stood then and raised his hand in a silent request for their mother to remain still.

“It’s fine mother. Let Sherlock go home and brood. Sherlock, there is a car waiting to take you back to the city.”

“At least you’re not completely useless.” Sherlock sneered at the older gentleman. 

Mycroft’s lips thinned into a grimace. “I trust you will arrive back here at 8:00AM sharp, the wedding will be set to begin upon your arrival.” 

Sherlock’s nostrils flared and sharp fangs exposed themselves in a feral snarl of animalistic rage, good enough an answer to his brother’s declaration. 

John stared at the display of hostility coming from his intended and his future brother-in-law with dismay. Then those cold unfeeling silver blue eyes flared in his direction and the omega snapped his fangs in his direction, trying to intimidate him. John glanced down at the omega’s trembling hands that shook the table ever so slightly and to the extended claws tearing at the table cloth.

“Sherlock.” John spoke weakly, pleading with the omega not to see him as the enemy. 

Sherlock released a threatening growl before he pulled back, spun on his heel and stormed out of the home. 

“I’m sorry for Sherlock’s behavior. He… You must understand his reservations to bonding.” Mycroft reassured John, but his features remained troubled.

“I’m so sorry my dear.” Mrs. Holmes whispered soothingly. 

John exhaled a deep breath and palmed his face.

“I should have figured this wouldn’t be easy.” 

John tried not to let his emotions get the better of him, but the way Sherlock had stared at him…The look of pure revulsion in his eyes… It was painful to see. John thought he might be able to shower love and affection on Sherlock and he hoped that in time the young omega would grow to love him in return. Now, however, John wasn’t even sure Sherlock would grow to like him.

  



	4. Chapter 4

John was getting married today… in less than an hour, and his intended omega _hated_ him. Sitting in a plush chair within one of the many rooms of the Holmes’ mansion, John stared at his polished black designer shoes. 

Only two hours earlier Mycroft came with a car to pick him up from his apartment. As soon as they arrived at the mansion, John was led to a room and given a fine wedding tux and shoes. He was then left to prepare himself.

Mycroft told him he could relax in the room and that he’d retrieve him once Sherlock arrived. John was thankful for this, as he didn’t think he had the confidence to go out and meet the awaiting guests. 

Even within the room, John could hear distant voices and movement from outside his window where the guests waited. Mycroft had informed John that his mother had invited the rest of their family and friends. John couldn’t protest in his situation and only nodded with acceptance. 

John’s thoughts wandered to his sister. Harriet was all John had left and he knew he wouldn’t regret his decision, only the lying. He couldn’t even invite his sister to his own wedding. Well, he could, technically, but it would raise too many questions. Harry, who knew him so well, would quickly pick up on his lies and he’d be pressured to tell her the truth. John couldn’t have that. He knew his sister would force him to call the wedding off and Harry wouldn’t ever receive the liver. Harry had to live, so John couldn’t tell Harry about Sherlock. Not yet, anyways. Maybe after she got the liver he would, or he’d just keep lying. 

A knock at the door had John standing to his feet as the door swung open and Mycroft was there to greet him.

“Sherlock has arrived.” Mycroft said, a dissatisfied grimace upon his face, and John wondered if Sherlock was being resistant as he’d been the night before.

“We should go. Everything is set and all the guests have arrived.”

John nodded solemnly and followed Mycroft out to where the wedding was to be held.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_John Watson was certifiably insane._

Why on earth would the alpha submissive still want to marry Sherlock after he’d made the terms of their marriage clear? John should have refused. Laughed in Sherlock’s face and wished him luck on finding an alpha that would agree to an absurd marriage. John should have called the wedding off. 

Sherlock was waiting for the rejection, the refusal to be his husband and alpha in name only, but instead… John agreed. This therefore made the man a complete and absolute nutter. There was no other explanation… Well there was, but Sherlock highly doubted John could feel so much attraction for him that he’d damn himself in a loveless marriage. Sherlock wouldn’t even bond with him, not physically, and no alpha would dare commit to an omega that would refuse them. Certainly, not an alpha submissive, they mated once.

How could John claim him and not bond with him? John couldn’t possibly think Sherlock would change his mind, as if he were some idiot who didn’t know themselves well enough to know what they wanted. Sherlock didn’t want sex. He didn’t want a physical relationship. That. Would. Not. Change. 

Because John was such an absolute buffoon, Sherlock had to push him away using cruelty. He was rude; he was unbending, and feral, because he didn’t want to marry. And the best of ways to get the dolt to realize that was by scaring him off. Then John would call off this wedding and he could go back to living his life pleasantly alone and John could go on to find himself an agreeable omega. 

Sherlock hoped that John would change his mind that night and Mycroft would inform him come morning, that he didn’t have to go to this ridiculous wedding. Instead Mycroft called to affirm that John was preparing himself for their wedding and that he should stop his brooding and come.

Sherlock released an aggravated growl of frustration and threw his mobile at the wall, shattering it to pieces as his answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John followed Mycroft out of the mansion and to the yard. The lush green grass was still damp from the morning mist; white lawn chairs faced a white wedding arch full of blue and lavender roses.

A hundred or so guests, wearing elegant dresses and fine suits were seated and waiting for the ceremony to begin. Under the rose arch stood a priest, wearing all black, the white of his clerical collar even visible from so far away. He wore a kind smile and held his bible close to his chest. He was young with a delicate boyish look to him, barely old enough to be considered a man. 

“Sherlock.” Mycroft greeted, amusedly.

John’s eyes followed Mycroft line of vision and he was met by the sight of a quietly simmering Sherlock. Wearing the twin of his suit, but somehow Sherlock looked gorgeous in it and John just looked acceptable. The suit was cut to fit his lean frame agreeably, enhancing the narrowness of his waist and the leanness of his legs.

_Jesus, you’re beautiful. God, do you even realize it?_

John stared in wonder up into those beautiful eyes of his Sherlock. Unlike the silver blue they’d been at dinner the night before, they were clouded cobalt, so warm and murky all at once and _Fuck_ , John could get off just staring into those eyes. 

The flare of arousal awakened surprised John. He hadn’t felt like this since he’d been a teenager suffering from embarrassing wet dreams. With Sherlock, John felt like some depraved horny teenager trying to function. 

“Sod off, you—” Sherlock halted, his words fell away as his nostrils flared and he snapped his cold gaze in John’s direction, a look of pure and utter disbelief marring his features.

John felt heat rise to his face and Mycroft stifling back his snickers didn’t help the situation.

“I’ll let them know you’re ready.” Mycroft stated, subdued snickering dying away as he parted from them. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why I’m—” John blabbed mortified.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Sherlock sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his face, not wanting to have _this_ conversation. 

Not wishing to further indulge in this nonsensicality conversation, Sherlock headed in the direction of the wedding party. John stared after the omega and released a huff of breath, just a little frustrated.

John caught up to Sherlock, briskly walking at his side: the two of them made their way down the aisle surprising their unprepared guests and came to a sudden halt before the priest. The clergyman smiled at them and welcomed their guests to witness their union.

John didn’t pay attention to the priest so much as he’d directed his full attention at Sherlock. The eccentric man glared at the priest as he spoke of a divine union blessed by God, commitment, and unwavering love. 

“These two have come before you all to affirm their love and commitment for one another…” The priest continued his speech. 

Sherlock scoffed, rather loudly, and John’s face reddened with humiliation. 

“Get on with it.” Sherlock rushed. 

“Love is… _Pardon?_ ” The priest stuttered and John palmed his face at the omega’s next words.

“Get on with it. No one wants to hear your nonsensical prattle!”

“Sherlock!” John hissed.

“Tell me you don’t believe this twaddle?” Sherlock incredulously asked.

John glared up at Sherlock, their witnesses whispering behind them. John glanced over to Sherlock’s family. Mrs. Holmes was currently rubbing her throbbing left temple with her fingers, Mr. Holmes was staring at Sherlock with such disappointment, and Mycroft, the twit, was smugly grinning from ear to ear.

“Sherlock, please, just let the priest finish. It won’t take that long.” John reasoned with the man.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, shifted his feet, and glared murderously at John for a long time. When John’s eyes remained open, vulnerable and insistent, Sherlock exhaled a long breath and flicked his hand in the priest’s direction, giving an evasive gesture that the priest could continue his speech.

“M—marriage is a commitment o—one must not enter into lightly, but when the love is true…” The priest continued, growing ever confident in his words, though he’d begun to eye them warily, realizing they might not be joining for the right reasons. 

John sighed heavily and glanced over to Sherlock once more. Sherlock was glowering at the priest, seeming to want to throttle the man, wanting to ruin this wedding, drive John away in one final, desperate attempt to have John call off the wedding. John would not give. He would not call off the wedding, even if Sherlock continued to interrupt the priest. He had his own reasons why he needed this marriage to go off without a hitch.

When the priest asked them to exchange their rings, John retrieved the two rings from his pocket. Offering up his to Sherlock and the omega begrudgingly took it. John took Sherlock’s offered left hand and slipped on the ring given to him by Mycroft earlier that morning. They were both simple gold wedding rings. 

John lifted his left hand to Sherlock and the omega shoved the wedding band on before releasing his hand of his grasp. Even with the momentary contact, John felt warmth grow within his chest. The smoothness of Sherlock’s delicately un-calloused hand and the exchanging of rings was such an intimate moment between them and it made John long for more. Wishing more than anything Sherlock would stop fighting.

“John Hamish Watson, do you commit yourself to William Sherlock Scott Holmes? Do you promise to love, honor, respect, communicate with each other, to look to your own emotional health so that you can relate in a healthy way, and to provide a healthy home for children if you choose to have them; to be a support and comfort for your partner in times of sickness and health, till death do you part?”

“I do.” John answered evenly. 

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do you commit yourself to John Hamish Watson? Do you promise to love, honor, respect, communicate with each other, to look to your own emotional health so that you can relate in a healthy way, and to provide a healthy home for children if you choose to have them; to be a support and comfort for your partner in times of sickness and health, till death do you part?”

“Obviously.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I mean that’s what we’re here for. Are you so daft as to—”

“Sherlock… _Please_.” John implored.

“I do.” Sherlock eyed John jadedly, perturbed. 

“Father, we ask you now for your blessing on these beautiful wedding rings that they may symbolize for alpha and omega in their union; health, happiness, strength and courage, joy and peace, abundance and prosperity, and unconditional loving for each other.”

The priest smiled at the witnesses and at John, eyed Sherlock wearily, and finished with, “By the power vested in me by Saint Agnes Cathedral and God, I now pronounce you two wed.”

John watched as the blood slowly drained from Sherlock’s face and he took a step back and away from him already knowing what was to come.

“Alpha, you may now take claim of your mate.”

John didn’t move. Just watched as his omega’s lips pursed into a grimace of acceptance and lowered his gaze to the ground.

“Just get it over with.” Sherlock sniped. 

John looked back up and watched as Sherlock loosened his tie, popped open the first four buttons of his shirt and yanked the left collar away to reveal more untouched milky flesh. John’s mouth watered with the treasure open to his taking. 

_Mine_ , John’s alpha growled within. 

“I’ll... make it quick.” John whispered softly, and stepped cautiously towards the displeased Sherlock.

Sherlock turned away from John, staring off at the yard, as well as telling John to get on with it. John paused when Sherlock’s head remained upright, not giving, unyielding, never submitting to him even when offering him his neck. 

John bit the inside of his cheek, stepping closer to stare at the exposed flesh, a hand instinctively raising up and allowing the pads of his fingers to brush over silky flesh. John’s fingers jerked back when Sherlock’s cold eyes snapped in his direction. 

“Come on then, do it!” Sherlock commanded. 

John brows rose in surprise, stared back down at the flesh before him and lowered his hand. Replacing it with his nose, John dragged his nose up the slope of Sherlock’s neck and inhaled a long breath, seeking out his scent gland, where his scent was the strongest. 

John’s mouth watered. Sherlock smelled magnificent. 

“Sweet.” John murmured under his breath, swallowing wetly as his senses enhanced and the alpha within came to the forefront. A deep graveling growl broke through the silence and fangs descended, peeking passed his parted mouth. His lips brushed along the silky skin of his omega’s scent gland and without further warning pierced deep.

A shuddering inhale of breath echoed against John’s ear as his omega stiffened against his astringent hold. John growled again, more feral than before, releasing Sherlock’s neck of his unforgiving bite to hungrily mouth at the bleeding wound and never expected for large hands to take hold of his forearms and dig tightly. John couldn’t pull away. He didn’t want to. Sherlock was his. Now and forever, just his. Always.

“John.” A breathless whisper of his name came from a voice that was pure sex and John purred amorously, laving up the remaining blood, revealing reddening flesh. 

“Mine.” John sighed an exceedingly long breath, and nuzzled the bond bite once there was no trace of blood left. 

“John.” Sherlock said more firmly, grip vicious now, but John’s alpha was in full power now.

“Mine. All mine.”

“John.” Sherlock warily addressed when he pushed John back, but instead of freeing himself, the alpha retaliated and suddenly strong arms were wrapped around his waist holding the omega close.

“Mmm. Sherlock.” John hummed, nuzzling up the underside of an elegant chin, a submissive act, but insistent. John wanted more time to scent his newly claimed mate. More time to allow their scents to mingle, though it was no longer needed, John could already scent the change. 

Another growl rumbled deep against John’s chest, vibrating strong enough to strum through his whole body, but this one came from Sherlock. John’s brain was a fog of phenlethylamine, norepinephrine and dopamine, but he knew it was a growl of warning, only, John couldn’t pull away. Not now. Sherlock smelled so sweet, inviting. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock snarled and John made a noise of protest when the omega pushed harshly against him and the two were separated. 

All at once, John felt cold hard realization take hold of him. Staring up at the trembling omega, John knew he’d gone too far. Sherlock stared at John in complete bafflement and palmed his newly made bond bite. 

Hushed giggles and whispers broke through the silence, hundreds of guests having observed everything. Sherlock answered John’s pleading stare with an angry huff, and stormed down the aisle and towards the mansion. 

John quickly retrieved the cane he’d dropped in place of balancing himself against Sherlock and hurriedly limped after the omega.

John followed Sherlock into a stylishly decorated sitting room and opened his mouth preparing to lay out profuse apologies, plead that his omega not take offense to the affections of his alpha within. Before John could, Sherlock reared back, raised a hand in an instant voicelessly, demanding John remain silent.

“Sher—” John tried anyways.

“No!” Sherlock shot down the alpha mid plea.

“But—”

“ _No_.” Sherlock hissed, incensed.

“ _Sherlock!_ ”

“ _Stop talking_!” Sherlock screamed, spinning away to prowl the room, glaring murderously in John’s direction.

“Sher—” John’s whine choked in the back of his throat, hands raised out for the omega, seeking pardon, knowing he’d passed a line, gone too far. 

“No!” Sherlock slammed his hand against a nearby table, and focused on calming his erratic breathing. “That was low, John. That… I told you no intimacy. A bite was all I would allow.”

They both knew _that_ back there had _not_ been just a bite. It was an overly affectionate alpha scenting and laying more affection than necessary. John couldn’t help it though. His alpha was so maltreated, lacking the touch and care of a mate for so very, _very_ long. John was forty for God’s sake. His alpha was ready to love, ready to give his mate everything, ready to have a family. It had been impossible for John to pull back his alpha when finally claiming his mate. His alpha, John, both human and animal side wanted to love Sherlock and he’d been helpless to control his need.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry.” John finally spoke with great remorse. He’d take Sherlock’s rants eagerly, knowing he’d fucked up. “I understood. _I understand_. I just, my alpha wanted—”

Sherlock laughed, deep resonating laughter bubbled out of him, though it never reached his eyes.

“ _Ooh_ , your alpha instincts made you behave like some slobbering pup? _Jesus, John!_ ” Sherlock paused, exhaled a heavy breath and palmed his face.

A long moment of silence passed between them before Sherlock spoke again.

“Don’t make me into the bitchy omega stereotype, John. Don’t make me into the bad guy here.”

“I never—”

“I told you how I felt, and you said you understood.”

“I do. It… It won’t happen again.” John promised.

Sherlock stared calculatingly at the seemingly sincere alpha. 

“John… I meant it when I said I don’t want intimacy.”

John frowned, but nodded with acceptance.

“I am sorry, Sherlock.” John’s voice was soft, brittle, tired.

Sherlock dipped his head and seated himself in a nearby chair where he subconsciously palmed his bond bite once more. 

“Does it hurt much?” John worriedly questioned, wondering if he’d been too rough, but he didn’t think he had been.

“No.” Sherlock whispered and stroked at the tender flesh.

“It won’t happen again.”

Sherlock shook his head as if ridding it of a thought and mumbled a soft, “I know.”

John paused at Sherlock’s words. Did he really know? Would he trust him not to let his alpha back out?

“Okay.” John answered slowly, contemplatively staring at the silent omega as he continued to stroke at his neck. 

“There you two are! What do you think you are doing? You have a reception to go to.” Mrs. Holmes rambled on as she entered the room and went straight to Sherlock, grabbing his arm and pulling him from off his seat. 

“Now Sherlock let us introduce John to the rest of our family.” 

“Why would I do that for?” Sherlock sniped, Mrs. Holmes wasn’t deterred in the least as she took hold of John’s arm with her other hand and led them out and to the gardens where the reception was being held.

Throughout the night John was led by Mrs. Holmes, much like Sherlock was, to meet members of the Holmes family. All were stuck up prigs that John knew he would only have the misfortune of meeting under Mrs. Holmes’ direction. 

Sherlock had a rather large family, but none of them seemed too familiar with one another, Sherlock certainly didn’t make it a point to talk to any of them other than nodding his head in greeting. That, and when Mrs. Holmes pinched his arm and fed Sherlock words of which she wished him to say to several cousins, two aunts, and one great uncle. John, regardless of immediately disliking them, remained polite and spoke when spoken to, but didn’t go out of his way to carry on a conversation. 

When Mrs. Holmes deemed they’d met everyone of importance, she allowed Sherlock and John to sit themselves down while she continued to mingle. John was seated between Sherlock and Mycroft. Mr. Holmes had been seated by Mycroft, but soon after they’d made their way to the table, Mr. Holmes left to monitor Mrs. Holmes, as she was on her fourth glass of wine and becoming more vocal than was appropriate. 

Sherlock spent most of his time, much like his mother, drinking glass upon glass of red wine, while fiddling with his mobile under the table as not to be found out by the ever watchful Mrs. Holmes. 

John glared at his own glass of wine, wishing he had something stronger, but as he realized soon after arriving to the reception, the Holmeses valued fine wine over hard liquor. 

Towards the later part of the celebration Mr. and Mrs. Holmes announced it was time to cut the wedding cake. Sherlock let out a long suffering sigh before he slipped his mobile in his coat pocket and both John and he rose from their table to join his parents. Their wedding cake, much like everything else in regards to their wedding, was picked out by Mrs. Holmes. It was a gaudy cake, far too fancy for John’s taste. 

A cake with layers set up like a fancy staircase, wrapped in blue frosting ribbons and purple flowers. At the very top layer of the cake was handmade figurines that resembled Sherlock and John’s likeness.

John scowled at the image these figures of them portrayed. It was of Sherlock and John facing each other, in a close embrace, touching from the chest down and staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. Obviously, Mrs. Holmes went through a lot of trouble having someone craft it up in such a short amount of time. 

Glancing over to his side and to the somber omega, John found Sherlock equally discontented with his mother’s choice of cake designs. The crowd cheered for them, and wanting this wedding to be over and done with, John acted first and took the knife placed on the table and waited for Sherlock to take hold of his hand. 

Silver blue met oceanic blue and John quickly broke their stare to focus on their task, cutting the cake. More cheering erupted, followed by flashing lights of cameras as they sliced two pieces of cake and set them out onto separate plates already placed before them. 

The guests began encouraging them to feed each other their first bite of wedding cake. Mrs. Holmes standing nearby blubbered and clapped her hands excitedly. John exhaled a heavy breath, deciding that this was his wedding and there was nothing he could do but to play his role. 

Forking a piece of the cake, John offered his piece up to Sherlock’s pursed lips and waited for the omega to accept his offer. Sherlock stared at John stubbornly and John knew the likelihood of Sherlock refusing him was high and so he began to mentally prepare himself.

Sherlock would have refused John’s offer if he had not glanced at his mother who shot him a deadly look. Sherlock was an intelligent man and knew it would cause him far less pain refusing the alpha of this one simple task than his mother. Resigned to his limitations, Sherlock bowed slightly and took a bite of the cake John offered him; French vanilla with strawberry filling.

Sherlock wordlessly forked a piece of his own cake and offered it up to the alpha. Watching calculatingly as John stared at his raised fork, then met his gaze, holding it as he took the mouthful of cake. The flash of a pink tongue swiped the bottom of the fork and flicked up at the end, jerking Sherlock’s hand slightly. 

A shuddering breath released from out of Sherlock at John’s innocent actions, that didn’t feel so innocent to him. A stirring in his lower region surprised Sherlock and his grip on his fork faltered; the silver clattering nosily against his plate, though the sound was muted by well wishes. 

Sherlock hurriedly set his plate down on the table and spun on his heel and made an attempt to sulk somewhere far off, needing to contemplate this strange reaction of his. Only, he was stopped by a hand to his arm and met his mother’s determined gaze. 

“Sherlock, dear, it’s your wedding.”

John and Sherlock felt like prisoners in their own wedding, forced to sit and listen to Sherlock’s parents and Mycroft give acceptable speeches and watch their guests mingle and dance. At one point, Mrs. Holmes attempted to have Sherlock take John to dance with him, but that was where Sherlock drew the line and promised his mother he would walk out of this wedding if he were pushed into doing so. John held back from speaking, because as painful as it was to acknowledge, John had always thought about this moment. The day he would marry for love and have his first dance as a wedded couple with his bond mate, but that wasn’t going to happen and John was just a bit disappointed about that. 

John never thought the wedding would end, but end it finally did. All their guests followed them out to the front where a slick limousine was awaiting them. John was surprised when Mrs. Holmes embraced him in a bear hug and showered affectionate kisses to his cheek, though after meeting her, he should have expected this. Mr. Holmes congratulated them both and offered his assistance if ever they wished to gain some martial advice. Mycroft merely tipped his head in Sherlock’s direction and the tall consultant rolled his eyes at his older brother. 

While Sherlock was struggling to free himself from his mother’s bear hug and sloppy kisses, Mycroft pulled John away to the side.

“As agreed upon, your sister will live.” Mycroft assured.

“Does that mean…” John whispered shakily, body pulsed with wonder and hope.

Mycroft smiled and nodded. 

“Is…” John spluttered, and just as he collected his thoughts into words Sherlock moved to stand beside him and he was forced to bury his questions. 

“Let’s go.” Sherlock commanded, opening the door to the limousine, awaiting John to enter first.

John hesitated, conflicted, staring between the scowling Sherlock and smirking Mycroft. A large hand encased his arm causing John’s gaze to break away from Mycroft and directed his attention to Sherlock.

“John.” Sherlock pleaded earnestly, eyeing their means of escape, the limousine, with such reverence.

John knew all Sherlock wanted was out of this façade of a wedding and his melodramatic mother. He could understand Sherlock’s wish, but paused with the need to learn what Mycroft had to tell him.

“Go, John. I’m afraid Sherlock has endured all he could today. I will be in touch.” Mycroft’s last statement felt like a sure promise and John held to it with such anticipation and hope, he couldn’t restrain the grateful smile he sent Mycroft. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock insisted briskly, tugging John’s arm in the direction of the open door.

“Many blessings my dears!” Mrs. Holmes blubbered, crying into Mr. Holmes’ shoulder. 

John glanced over to the contented Mrs. Holmes in amazement. What exactly was so wonderful about their union? He’d been paid, not in money, but in favor to marry Sherlock. Sherlock had been blackmailed into this marriage. There was nothing of value in their union, certainly nothing enough for Mrs. Holmes to bless. 

Nevertheless, John gave in to Sherlock’s persistent pushing and tugging, at last seating himself within the limousine. Staring out the now shut door and through its tented window he watched as Mrs. Holmes sobbed more vigorously, Mr. Holmes smiling through the window at their obscured reflections, and Mycroft staring on with a more somber expression of satisfaction. Several dozen of the Holmes’ family and friends cheered and sent well wishes as their chauffeur started the engine and drove off.

The moment they drove off the Holmes’ estate and began the long winding roads of the countryside, John felt an immediate sense of relief. No more pretenses forcing them to behave in a manner that unsettled them, no more indulging in Mrs. Holmes’ wishes.

Sherlock released a heavy sigh and gazed out his side of the window. John noticed the change in Sherlock, most of the tension of his rigid posture dissipated into nothing. John felt as Sherlock did and in that moment he found amusement in their similar stressors and reactions to such. 

John smiled sadly, staring out their window, knowing that their new life together was only just beginning. He hoped that Sherlock would grow to care for him, but John wasn’t going to lie to himself. The likelihood of that happening was slim to none. Still, John wouldn’t just give up. What good would that do? They’d just end up miserably alone together. No, John was going to show Sherlock the kindness, comfort, and strength of love, by loving Sherlock despite the consultant’s refusal of validating his presence. This love he held for Sherlock would surely melt the coldness surrounding Sherlock’s heart.

  



	5. Chapter 5

John Watson was a married man now. He never thought this day would come. Hoped for it? He had. Dreamed about it? Undoubtedly. However, he’d never thought he would find himself an omega that would love him for himself. Alphas like him finding a mate was an unlikely possibility. Though he had found an omega to marry, that in no way meant his omega loved him. 

No. John’s omega would never love him. Three weeks. They’d been married for three weeks and Sherlock hardly spoke to him. 

Their first night, they'd arrived at Sherlock’s—their flat. Sherlock had given him a brief tour, ending with John’s bedroom. It was already furnished. Sometime during their wedding, Mycroft had movers transport all of John’s belongings, placing them within the room. Apparently, Mycroft knew Sherlock well enough to know John wouldn’t be living a married life with his husband. 

John tried. He woke early every morning to make them breakfast. Sometimes Sherlock was up experimenting—a thing the brilliant scientist enjoyed doing in his spare time, mostly experimenting with human organs. Other times Sherlock had already left to do God knows what, but he’d return eventually and John would warm up a meal for him. On even rarer occasions Sherlock would wake and greet John in the kitchen, drink the tea John prepared and a few bites of the meals he made. As of yet, Sherlock hadn’t eaten a full meal he’d prepared.

John wasn’t the best of cooks, but he was acceptable and he did have signature specialties. He was also great with grilling meats. John typically cooked all their meals and remained sitting eating alone while Sherlock left him after the bites of his meal to occupy his time with something else. 

John cleaned up around the house, took Sherlock’s clothes to the tailor and or dry cleaners, and went grocery shopping. He’d nearly had a heart attack the first week after their wedding when he’d looked into his bank account. He wanted to be sure how much he had in the bank before going shopping for the house. 

Though John hadn’t cared for the money Mycroft had offered him and thought that discussion was at an end, it would seem not. The amount in his account was jaw-droopingly too bloody much! It was enough money that John could go the rest of his life never working and live in luxury. Hell, it was enough to buy an island… dozens of islands. 

John demanded Mycroft take back the money, but the government official refused. It was now John’s for joining their family. Not to mention that he had another account under his name, a joint account with Sherlock, his husband's inheritance. John choked on air when seeing the amount of money in their joint account—enough to make his personal account look like chump change. 

John didn’t touch their joint account; his new account was far more than enough for him. Though John didn’t think he’d ever really use the money on himself, he decided it was more than alright if he used it for their home and caring for Sherlock. 

John, though no longer needing a job, decided to go job hunting. He didn’t want the Holmes’ money. He wanted to support himself and on his third week, he landed a job at an understaffed clinic. 

Though Mycroft frustrated him, John couldn’t hate him, especially not after he’d followed through on his promise to save Harry’s life. That same night of their marriage, a liver was being airlifted from Scotland and sent to the hospital Harry was in. 

John went to visit his sister after the surgery, barely remembering to remove his wedding ring before stepping into her room. She’d thanked him, knowing that because of him she was alive. Harry thought John managed to convince the hospital to give her the liver because he had some old friends he’d called in a favor with. John allowed her to believe such. She didn’t have to learn the truth. Harry would hate herself for having John give up his only chance of happiness to ensure her life. John feared if Harry found out she’d go into a state of depression and, God forbid, start drinking again. John would introduce her to Sherlock someday, maybe. Thinking about it brought too many questions. How could he introduce Sherlock without revealing their marriage and reasons for it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Hudson was Sherlock’s landlady and a wonderful woman that John liked very much. John spent some of his free time downstairs in Mrs. Hudson’s flat drinking a cup of tea and talking with her. She was kind and rather lonely. She needed people in her life, and in many ways, so did John.

Over their many meetings and cups of tea, John found himself opening up to her. Mrs. Hudson noticed the coldness of his and Sherlock’s marriage. She knew it was an arrangement to ensure Sherlock’s health and John found himself confessing his own side to it. John told her everything about Mycroft’s visit and his agreement to ensure his sister’s life. The contract he’d signed only stated he keep the truth of his arrangement from Sherlock himself, not that John couldn’t tell anyone else.

Mrs. Hudson cooed and comforted John as his eyes shimmered with remorse and sorrow. She could see it was painful for him and vowed to keep his secret. John knew she would. Telling her was the best thing for him, because he now had someone he could talk to about it all and it was nice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Hudson was currently reading from the newspaper within their home and remarking about the serial suicides that were going on while Sherlock and John sat within their living room one afternoon. They were then alerted to sirens going off outside. Sherlock went over to the window to stare out and at the scene before them, a faint smile gracing his lips and causing question to rise within John.

A man, who John would later learn was detective inspector Gregory Lestrade, entered their home and requested Sherlock’s expertise. John had watched begrudgingly as his husband left and Mrs. Hudson soon went downstairs, promising to make them tea with biscuits. 

John never thought Sherlock would come back and ask for his assistance, but God, John wanted to help. He wanted the excitement of a case that promised equal parts adventure and danger, not to mention a chance to possibly work through the distance of their marriage. 

Sherlock wasn’t the best person to work with, especially after he’d left him at the crime scene with no idea where he was. John found his way back eventually, and swallowed back his anger, because Sherlock was just being oblivious. The case went on and John found himself getting caught up in it, learning the way Sherlock worked, and becoming all the more fascinated with his mind. 

After the case, John was amazed at the brilliance that was his husband and even more so that because of Sherlock, John’s limp had vanished. After that case, John heartily joined Sherlock on another, and another. Cases began pouring in the more John wrote in his blog. His blog became popular and soon, their names were in the papers and Sherlock’s work was renowned. 

There was no longer coldness between Sherlock and John. Sherlock was still oblivious to John’s love for him, and he still could be unthinking and lacked sympathy for social propriety sake and all, but that just made John love Sherlock more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was currently preparing dinner for Sherlock and himself when a rush of heat overwhelmed his body and he dropped the knife he’d been using to chop vegetables. John inhaled shakily as a pleasurable spasm ignited in his lower abdomen and his cock jolted with arousal.

Slamming his hands against the counter, panting heavily, John scented beyond the simmering onions on the stove the scent of his omega. Sherlock’s mouthwatering scent made his lungs burn with the growing harshness of his strained breaths. It took John a moment to work through his fogging senses and understand what had changed. It had been three months since their wedding.

“Oh God— _Christ!_ ” John groaned, when another spasm rocked through him more prominent than the first, painful now, piercing his lower regions with want.

John’s body was jerked by the powerful wave of need as it overwhelmed him, it had been so long—his whole life on suppressants and suddenly stopping after their wedding, was bringing about his heat quickly now.

“John?” Sherlock called from the living room, having ceased his playing of the violin. 

John turned to face Sherlock, already feeling beads of perspiration on his forehead and heat rising to his face. Opening his mouth to speak, John couldn’t find words as another jolt of his cock brought with it the first drops of precome. John felt himself sliding to the ground as he struggled in catching his breath, but that wonderfully sweet smell of his untainted omega was driving him mad with want.

Sherlock set his violin and bow down on his chair and moved quickly to join John on the floor. Worry clearly evident in his eyes. John loved Sherlock, but Sherlock thought of John as a friend—Sherlock hadn’t said such in so many words, but John felt it in the kindness and care his omega expressed sparingly. 

“John.” Sherlock whispered the moment he was close enough to scent beyond the browning onions and discover the heady smell of his arousal. 

Sherlock stared searchingly at John’s half lidded eyes, trying to find answers. John reached out for his omega, his fingers fisting in Sherlock’s black button up shirt and drawing the omega in close.

“Please.” John pleaded, inhibition leaving the moment arousal overcame all else.

“J—John, are you…?” Sherlock was flummoxed, brows raised in astonishment. 

“ _Please_.” John needed, and, leaving Sherlock no time to react, he hauled the taller man against his chest and buried his face in the crook of his omega’s neck.

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed in surprise; the heat of John’s tongue laving over the scar of his bond bite brought with it a tingle of enjoyment through the flustered omega.

“Please.” John rasped against Sherlock’s skin, grazing his extended fangs over the tender scent gland of his mate’s bond mark.

John’s tongue was gliding up from the mark and closer to Sherlock’s ear, when all at once he was being shoved viciously away and Sherlock fell back on his ass, giving them a foot of space.

“Please.” John whined. He was in need. He wanted Sherlock. Needed his warmth, his care, his love, more than anything else right now—He should know someone like Sherlock was incapable of giving him such. 

“Please.”

“John.” Sherlock begged warily.

John crawled on all fours to Sherlock, submitting, _presenting_ himself to his omega, and it was all such a confusing sight for Sherlock’s omega to take in. Omegas were to be on all fours, omegas were to be the ones pleading, never an alpha and this—this—Sherlock’s mind was short-circuiting. Baffled, Sherlock stared wide eyed as John crawled over his sprawled legs, and began to wrap his arms around his shoulders. 

There was an unsettling pulsing in Sherlock’s chest that he would later spend hours contemplating, but right in that moment, Sherlock’s kneejerk reaction was to shove John off of him, using far more force than was needed, and scramble away.

“How? You were on suppressants, so how…” Sherlock palmed his mouth, eyes alight with understanding. “ _Oh John_.”

_John wasn’t on suppressants._

“Please.” John keened, raising to his feet, pausing in his movements briefly when another rush of unsatisfying desire washed over him, the wetness of his leaking cock further dampening his pants and slacks. 

“No.” Sherlock refused, and again that painful tug in his chest strengthened when John couldn’t hide the sense of rejection he felt at Sherlock’s repudiation. 

“I love you.” John confessed, unashamed when his voice wavered with devotion.

Sherlock shook his head, unable to accept the truth of John’s words.

“No you don’t. It’s the heat. It’s making you—”

“No, Sherlock. I love you. I’ve loved you since the very first time I laid eyes on you. I love your fierceness. I love how you emanate authority. I love you for your mind. I love you for your peculiarity.”

“John, be rational.” Sherlock attempted to have John see reason.

John broke the distance between them and wrapped Sherlock in his arms once more.

“Love me Sherlock. I’ll take care of you. I will worship you. I will love you all my life. Just… _love me_.” John murmured sweetly, leaning in, lips so close to Sherlock’s, but again Sherlock shoved John away and crossed the room, giving them more space than John liked.

“No, John. I… I told you I didn’t want this. Why did you stop your suppressants!?” Sherlock’s omega was quickly taking notice to the bitter fragrance of come filling the room, so thick, so… _alpha_. The omega within purring wantonly with the saturated scent of the alpha’s sex and Sherlock was amazed and terrified when his body trembled in want of it. 

_No!_

Sherlock shook his head, trying to focus, trying to ignore his omega instincts that begged him to submit, to lower himself on all fours and raise his hips up in invitation. Sherlock would be damned if he allowed his omega side out— _Thank God_ for his suppressants, because otherwise, Sherlock didn’t think he’d have the ability to refuse.

John didn’t want to talk anymore. He wanted to hold Sherlock and kiss him. He wanted to run his hands all over the pale flesh, worship Sherlock’s body, and love him up until Sherlock was drowning in it all. He wanted to bond with his mate. 

Only, Sherlock didn’t want him.

“I thought… I thought… maybe…”

John thought maybe Sherlock would grow to love him, but three months didn’t seem enough time for Sherlock. It only took John seconds to fall in love with his omega, but Sherlock may never grow to love John. 

“You don’t love me.” John said softly, feeling a sense of devastating sorrow beyond the need.

“I—I told you what I could and could not offer.”

John needed Sherlock and was rejected. Sherlock was always rejecting him. John looked away and stumbled his way to the stairs leading to his room. 

Sherlock watched in silence as John staggered weakly, his legs noticeably trembling with each step he took. His omega within whimpering and keening for the alpha as Sherlock’s logical side refused to comfort and please his husband. Still… Sherlock took a hesitant step towards the alpha and called out a strained, “John.” Unable to bear the thought the alpha was suffering because of him.

What was there left to say… Sherlock didn’t want him. John’s heat was burning through him and he needed to care for himself because Sherlock wouldn’t. As John staggered up the stairs, his clothing clinging to him by sweat, his lungs burning by harsh panting, he felt rejected and unwanted by his much loved mate. Sherlock didn’t even care for the love John was offering him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days of heat was the equivalent of three days of hell. John stayed within his room, doing nothing else but pleasuring himself. He didn’t drink or eat, though he’d heard a knock on his door every few hours and Sherlock’s voice from beyond it, informing him he’d brought food for him.

John hated himself more and more, the clearer his mind became after each orgasm. He regretted his confession so much so, and the embarrassment of his behavior, grew and grew, until the very last orgasm of his heat passed.

John stayed in his room for several more hours after his heat, unable to move, weakened for lack of nourishment and debilitating shame. Sherlock, even after rejecting him, cared enough to bring him food—food which he’d refused, but still… Sherlock cared for his health and though it hurt, knowing the care was in the form of pity, John couldn’t stop himself from feeling warmth in his heart for it. Yet, still… It hurt… It hurt to have gained Sherlock’s care out of pity and still hold no place in his heart. 

John wanted to yell at Sherlock, curse him for rejecting his love, because Sherlock was too foolish to see the importance of love, but then how could he do that? How could John admonish Sherlock for lacking a heart in regards to him? Maybe Sherlock could love, just not someone like John. That thought hurt more that John cared to admit. 

John buried his face in his pillow, smothering the sound of a pitiful whimper. How could this marriage work if Sherlock refused to love him? But then again Sherlock never made promises to love him. John had to remind himself that their marriage wasn’t of their making. Sherlock married him because of a contract he’d made with his family. John married Sherlock for the insurance of a contract he’d made for his own reasons. This marriage was never going to be what John wanted it to be, and the sooner he accepted this, the easier things would be. 

Having this thought in mind John finally rose from the bed and proceeded to take one of the longest showers of his life. He let the heat of the water and the soap rinse off the evidence of his heat, until he smelled thickly of soap. After, John changed his clothes and then quickly stripped his bedding, throwing the clothes in a plastic bag to later throw out (there was no salvaging them) and setting out a clean set of sheets. Opening the window of his room, John hoped that the remaining scent of his heat would quickly leave the room, so that he wouldn’t have to be reminded of what had happened. The last of tasks John made was taking his suppressants once more, because John would… could no longer fool himself: Sherlock would never want him and John would never suffer the embarrassment of a heat alone. 

When John made it downstairs he wasn’t expecting to find Sherlock pacing along the landing of the staircase. The omega’s head downcast, eyes tense with thought, brows furrowed deeply, his hand at his sides clenching and unclenching. John stared for a moment longer than he should have, then glanced at the ground and cleared his throat, breaking Sherlock from his thoughts long enough that his pacing stilled when he took notice of him.

“John.” Sherlock breathed shakily, stepping closer to the alpha, not close enough by John’s measurements, but then again, John shouldn’t want something he would never have.

“I’m fine Sherlock. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.” John brushed past the omega, making sure to never meet Sherlock’s eyes directly, and quickly headed for the kitchen—because he was actually starving. 

Sherlock remained silent, but followed after John, wordlessly watching as he shifted about the kitchen preparing two slices of toast, fruit salad, and warming up several slices of ham. John shut his eyes after setting a pot of tea on the kettle, feeling Sherlock’s eyes on his back, hating it and wanting more of it all at the same time.

“Have you eaten?” John asked; civility he was promised and so, John would be equally civil with his husband.

“I’m not hungry.” Sherlock’s soft reply filled John’s ears. 

John opened his eyes and turned around, collecting his food and placing it on the kitchen table, ignoring the bloodied human fingers in a plastic bag set out near him, John focused on eating his food.

“I…” Sherlock stopped himself, because he would not apologize. Why did he have to apologize for John’s mistake? John was the one who’d foolishly stopped his suppressants and thought he’d be receptive, which Sherlock could never be. 

“I’ll be heading off as soon as I finish breakfast… There are some things I need to do.”

“Oh?” Sherlock vocalized, frowning at his own vocalization. He sounded off, and it bothered Sherlock because he didn’t seem to know himself all that well anymore. “When will you be back?”

John finished chewing his ham before answering, “Not sure, maybe later on tonight.”

Sherlock moved to seat himself across from John and observed the alpha eat his meal. Sherlock felt that same unsettling pull in his chest when he realized John refused to meet his gaze. He didn’t like it. Was John angry with him?

“Are you angry with me?” Sherlock asked, stunned when he’d spoken without thought to.

John’s eyes left his plate to stare at Sherlock’s hands resting on the table, up to his chest, before lowering back to his plate.

“No.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw, because it was apparent John was mad at him and he hadn’t done anything wrong! 

“You seem angry.” Sherlock grumbled.

“I’m not.” John smiled sadly and set his half eaten toast on his plate.

John was being evasive and Sherlock hated it. He hated that John wasn’t looking him in the eyes. He hated that John wasn’t talking to him freely—only when Sherlock spoke did John reply, but he wasn’t starting up a conversation and suddenly Sherlock understood. Feeling triumphant, Sherlock smiled smugly at the alpha.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you? You’re angry about… and you want me to apologize.”

John sighed and bowed his head, raising his hands to palm his forehead, he said, “I’m not punishing you. I simply… This marriage… You told me what you want and what you don’t. I’m simply accepting it.”

Sherlock looked fiercely at John, silently willing the alpha to look up, but the man’s head remained lowered. 

“Right.” Sherlock snarled, rising from the chair and storming off to his room.

John flinched when the omega’s bedroom door slammed shut and groaned inwardly. 

“You fool.” John whispered to himself, and quickly wiped at his shut eyes, removing the dampness beneath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You don’t have to keep coming by so often. I’m okay now.” Harry smiled lovingly at John sitting beside her, drinking from his cup of tea.

“I come because I love you.”

“Thanks love.” Harry laughed and patted John’s leg before taking another sip from her cup of tea.

John smiled at his sister who looked so healthy after the surgery. No longer was she sickly pale, no longer was she so drained of energy she could barely keep awake, no longer did John have to worry that was going to be the last time he’d see her alive. Because of his sacrifice, Harry would live. 

“You need to stop taking care of me and take care of yourself.” 

John smiled, tilting his head in voiceless question and Harry elaborated with a twinkle in her eyes.

“You’ve been alone long enough.”

John’s smile vanished and his eyes lowered to frown at his cup of tea.

“What’s with that sour look? You’re forty for Christ’s sake! I know you want pups.”

John couldn’t hide the pain that flashed in his eyes when Harry said ‘pups’. God, John wanted pups so badly. He wanted a family of his own, but that was never going to happen.

Harry gently added, noticing the flash of pain, “If you were to register you’d find a loving omega willing to give you all you need. Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

John exhaled a heavy sigh. He was tired of being alone. He felt so lonely, but he’d given up his chance for love returned… for children, with his marriage to Sherlock. 

“I know.”

“So? What are you waiting for?”

“Harry…” John hesitated, eyes wet when he met Harry’s encouraging blue.

“Please John.” Harry spoke throatily, clasping a hold of his arm and squeezing tight. “It makes me sad knowing you’re alone. I don’t want you to be living like this anymore.”

John felt the first tear fall, followed by another, and then they were steadily pouring. He keened brokenly and nodded his head. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want Harry to worry about him. He’d fix Harry’s worry, he’d lie, and he’d tell her he was going to register. When enough time passed, he’d convince Sherlock to meet Harry and pretend to be a loving mate for his sister’s happiness. He just needed some time to work through the holes of the story, but even if he could never be happy, he’d make damn sure Harry was, because that was love. Love was putting other’s needs and happiness before one’s own. 

“What’s with the tears?” Harry laughed, releasing John’s arm to wrap her own around his and lean her head on his shoulder.

“Don’t cry Johnny boy, I know you’re lonely. Just promise me you will register and find an omega that loves you.” 

“I will.” 

John shut his eyes and buried his nose in his sister’s blond hair, scenting her with love; pine, lilies, and moss. She smelled of home and though John would never have the love she wished for him, he had his sister’s love and it would have to be enough, because John couldn’t dream of having more than that.

  



	6. Chapter 6

Harry would have died if not for John’s sacrifice, and with John’s sacrifice he saved another life, Sherlock's. Without John, Sherlock’s omega wouldn’t have been able to survive much longer. Sherlock and John’s relationship was more than complicated, but it didn’t affect their inner wolves. The moment John marked Sherlock with his bite and the transfer of hormones was made, the bond solidified. Sherlock’s omega accepted John’s alpha and Sherlock’s life was ensured. An omega without an alpha… It couldn’t be done; eventually that omega would waste away and die. An omega needed an alpha and an alpha needed an omega. They were each other’s center of gravity. 

John never forgot Harry’s request for him to register and find an omega who loved him. He knew that wouldn’t ever happen, but he needed to ask Sherlock this one thing—pretend to be the omega that loved him for his sister, but how could he? 

John was careful, especially now that they were in the public eye. Every time they went to work a case or they spotted the press, Sherlock and John removed their rings. They started doing this just after the first few publications of their work. It was John’s idea. John explained it would lead to more questions about their personal life and deter from _The Work_ if they were to come out as a couple — arranged or not. Sherlock agreed. All the legal paperwork about their wedding was hidden by Mycroft as per their request and John knew there was no paper trail leading to their union — other than their wedding witnesses and close friends Mrs. Hudson and Gregory Lestrade. Even so, Mycroft assured John that the witnesses for their wedding were predominately members of the Holmes family that knew how to keep a secret, and anyone else that was there were the respected partners of a Holmes family member and trustworthy.

John had time; the press weren’t going to expose them as a couple and it wasn’t like they’d keep this secret their whole lives, just until John introduced Harry to Sherlock. After, John would convince Sherlock it was better they tell the press — that if someone were to ever leak they were married it would cause them as much hassle to fix it. John was sure Sherlock would eventually agree to such. 

John’s life had once been simple, yet now he found himself living in lies, lies for his sister Harry, lies for his husband Sherlock. Lies he himself had to live. It was all so hard to handle, given, John prided himself on being an honest person and now, he lived in the guilt of his lies and fear of being discovered.

John knew, even though Sherlock rejected him and refused to share any part of his heart with him, that Sherlock’s omega acknowledged him. If Sherlock’s omega had refused him after the claim bite, Sherlock would have died immediately, but that was extremely rare. Sherlock’s omega was lonely and needed an alpha and John was the perfect partner — an alpha submissive. This knowledge gave John some comfort, but not enough to soothe his aching heart.

Sherlock had been far crueler the week after John’s heat and he could only surmise it was because John refused to meet Sherlock’s gaze directly and lacked the energy to try talking to the omega. The less John spoke to Sherlock, the more Sherlock became volatile. Sherlock began breaking dishes purposefully and left the mess for John to clean up. Sherlock put an unwrapped human heart in the pot of watered chicken and sliced lemons John left to thaw out in the kitchen sink. John simply wrapped up the heart and set it in the refrigerator, threw out the chicken and lemons, and ordered takeout. Sherlock played the violin incessantly, all hours. John didn’t mind, so Sherlock made it a point to clang about the home and smiled triumphantly when John was unable to sleep. 

One particular night, Sherlock couldn’t seem to hold his rage any longer and began insulting John’s intelligence and cursing at him to show some alpha dominance after they’d finished a case. 

“Sherlock.” John stressed, tired from lack of sleep, and attempted to make his way up the stairs to his room, but Sherlock blocked his path.

“No. Come on. Show me that temper that lurks inside all you alphas. Yell at me. Tell me how I’m an awful mate. How I’m a disappointment. Do anything, but this!” 

John stared at Sherlock’s shoulders as the omega trembled — from what, John was unsure. 

“Please move.” John’s voice was calm, if not a little exhausted. 

“No. Not until you stop being this way.” Sherlock rebuffed. 

“What are you talking about?” John palmed his face, just a bit annoyed.

“You won’t look at me.”

“I look at you.”

…

“Look at me.” 

John lowered his hand from his face and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder, unable to meet those beautiful blue eyes anymore, it hurt too much.

“ _Look at me!_ ” Sherlock screamed, trembling wracking his words.

“I am.”

John wasn’t prepared for Sherlock to lung forward, grab him by his arms and shake him. The shock of it snapped something within, and John’s eyes flicked and met the eyes he’d been avoiding for so long. 

“Stop this.” Sherlock snarled.

John couldn’t say anything, his eyes stung the longer he stared into Sherlock’s ocean blue. Sherlock looked tired, seeming to lack the sleep John himself was. There were bags under the omega’s eyes, his skin was a shade paler than usual, and his bottom lip was a deep red from the many times he’d chewed at it worryingly. 

“Okay.” John finally spoke and watched at Sherlock’s eyes widened with a kind of hope.

“Okay?”

“I’m looking at you.” John held Sherlock’s gaze and stomached the hurt his heart felt looking into those unfeeling eyes, because there was no love to answer his own.

Sherlock sucked back in his bottom lip and nibbled on it.

“I’m looking.” John whispered brokenly, unable to stop the pain of his heart from reflecting out of his eyes.

Sherlock turned his head away and released John immediately, but John didn’t move from where he stood. 

“Just go.” Sherlock hissed, stepping to the side, opening the pathway to John’s room.

John stared at Sherlock’s slouched shoulders, a sense of fatigue and remorse filling him. Why did Sherlock have to make things so difficult? 

“What do you want from me Sherlock?”

“Nothing.” came Sherlock’s hoarse reply.

Sighing heavily, John decided today had been a long day and right not he didn’t want to deal with Sherlock’s mood swings. Instead, John left the omega alone and went to his room, hoping some sleep would help clear his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock knew he was a horrible mate. He knew he’d hurt John, but still, he didn’t deserve to be punished like this. Why did John have to avoid looking at him? Why did John have to stop talking with him? Why did Sherlock respond to John’s absence of attention like a petulant child?

But it annoyed him. It made Sherlock so angry seeing the change in John. Seeing the way John gave up trying to form a ~~bond~~ \-- friendship with him. Sherlock shook his head, attempting to dislodge that faulty thought, because a bond was most certainly not what he meant. 

Sherlock was curious. Curious to understand the change in John — that blasted heat changed John and the way he’d looked at him just now was strangely unbearable to witness. 

Swiftly retrieving his laptop from the table of their study, Sherlock went to his room. Locking the bedroom door as a precaution, he logged into his brother’s account and to the surveillance feed of their flat. Searching for the correct camera, date, and time, Sherlock was able to access the footage of John’s heat. 

Sherlock watched with fascination and a fraction of guilt as a flushed, perspiring John entered his bedroom. The heat was already in effect — Sherlock could still remember John’s pungent and mouthwatering scent even now. 

The moment John locked the bedroom door behind him, the alpha submissive worked on removing his clothing. John’s movements were clumsy, his fingers struggled with unbuttoning his shirt and the alpha finally gave up, using his extending claws to shred away at his clothing until he was completely bare.

Sherlock was a man of science. He’d read countless books on human anatomy. He’d performed hundreds of dissections on cadavers, but this… Staring at the perspiring, flushed skin of his husband, completely bare and open to his view, stirred something within. Sherlock felt shame and embarrassment, two emotions foreign to him. Raising a hand to palm one side of his face, Sherlock hated how hot his skin felt from the blush claiming him. 

John was… John was formed perfectly. He was full figured, muscular, but not overly so. There were fleshy parts to him, but there was also the tension of muscles and they flexed with each movement John made to get himself into the bed. 

Laying himself flat on his back, John raised his knees, bending them and spreading them open in full view of the hidden camera facing the bed and Sherlock felt the omega within squirm at the sight of his bond mate. John was a complete mess, flushed flesh, heaving sweaty chest, the chest hair was dark, darker than John’s blond hair and it wasn’t unattractive. Sherlock found thick chest hair unattractive, but this… John’s chest hair wasn’t thick, it was light, not as light or fine as his own, but enough so that one had to be close to notice it entirely — or have a high-tech camera that could scope it out. The dark chest hair lightened further down John’s torso, lower still, a dark trail led from under John’s navel to the thicket patch of dark gold pubic hair. Sherlock shivered. He felt a full-on shiver claim him at the sight of John’s hand reaching out and griping a hold of his throbbing, soiled with cum cock.

John was most certainly an alpha, with a gloriously fat cock. So round, so long, so _alpha_. Sherlock shivered again, his body taking notice. Suppressants stopped his heats and made it more difficult to attain an erection, but it didn’t make him impotent. Sherlock wasn’t hard, or fully aroused, but his cock did twitch with interest. 

Sherlock shook his head. He shouldn’t feel interested. He shouldn’t be affected. He’d never felt sexually interested while on suppressants, so why was seeing John like this causing such a reaction from him now?

John whimpered pitifully, his eyes clamped shut tight, his fist working fiercely, jerking the massive girth of his cock, pre-come generously spouting from the angry bulb. 

“Please!” John whimpered, squirming, rocking up into his clenching fist, come pouring from the spout of his extensive length and whitening his hand, lubricating his strokes.

Sherlock shivered at the plea, his soft cock giving another interested twitch. 

John’s other hand moved, the tips of his fingers massaging the wet bulb of his cock and at the sensitive underside, his other hand gripped more tightly to his shaft. Sherlock’s omega whimpered at the sight of it, praising the heftiness of his alpha’s knot as it steadily grew with each of John’s desperate touches. 

_So well endowed, he could breed so well—No!_

Sherlock damned his omega’s wants because they were not his own. Instinct didn’t matter. Sherlock would be damned if he allowed his omega to control him. Never had he let his omega side out and he surely wouldn’t now, not even as his cock grew half hard. 

John panted, his harsh breaths growing more feral as he worked himself off. His knot was throbbing now, not at full size, but he was close to coming. John’s knot even at half size was quiet large, larger than the ones Sherlock had seen in his science books, John was… rather impressive in this category. 

Sherlock pursed his lips unimpressed when the alpha snarled a feral cry. John might be impressive for an alpha submissive, but he wasn’t different from any other alpha. They were all animalistic in their mating and though he’d never feel it, Sherlock knew John would be so if they ever spent a heat together. 

Sherlock glared at John shivering on the sheets, his eyes still shut, most probably dreaming up the perfect omega — a short, full figured and round hipped omega.

Deciding he’d seen enough, Sherlock raised a hand to end the feed, but then… among the panting and grunting, came a thick needing cry of, “ _Sherlock_.”

Sherlock froze in his movements, staring completely stunned at the screen. After everything Sherlock had done to John, all of his smarting remarks and rejections, even after he’d just rejected John’s pleas during John’s most vulnerable of moments, John was thinking of him. Needing of him? 

John’s mouth slackened wide, _‘Haaagh-ing’ his breaths_ , his hands working over his engorged cock. 

Sherlock’s omega squirmed, keening, wanting, but Sherlock refused its needs, because John wasn’t what he wanted — damn what his omega wished. 

“So pretty, so very pretty Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face felt two times hotter now, and that was disgraceful, because his blush was spreading to his ears and down his neck. A clear sign his omega was affected by the in-heat alpha’s words. 

The tension in Sherlock’s jaw loosened, astonishment stuttering the progression of thought, sending his mind in a daze, because never… not once had anyone ever referred to him as pretty. If he’d been born an alpha or beta, he could have been considered attractive, but he had not. As it were, no one had ever shown an interest in his looks because he was so repulsive looking for an omega and yet… John found him pretty. If John thought him pretty, than one could deduce that John liked how tall he was, that he was slim of frame, and had narrow boney hips. 

Sherlock was at a loss as to what to think, and that had never happened. He felt dumb—a simpleton. It was alarming and all a bit unsettling that John found him attractive. 

Words like _‘Pretty’_ were reserved for the flighty beautiful omegas who were attractively shorter than their alpha, who were fleshy and had a bit of fat on them, who had attractively round hips an alpha could grab onto when mating. Alphas had always thought of him as unattractive, freakishly tall, hideously slender, and more muscle and bone than love handle-like. 

Sherlock had been happy with his life before he’d presented… But truth be told — a part of him, his omega part — had always felt insecure about his looks, about his inability to fit the socially acceptable framework of what an omega was to be. There was a time in his childhood, when Sherlock had, shamefully, looked to be accepted by his peers. He tried fitting in. He couldn’t change how tall he was, but he had tried eating more, hoping to gain some well sought after pounds, but damn his biology—he had a high metabolism and burned off the fat soon after consumption.

“Just mine — My pretty Sherlock.” John moaned, the fingers of his left hand smearing the globs of cum at the bulb of his cock, his right moving so fast over his slickened shaft it was nearly a blur. 

“Pretty skin, so pale, so smooth, want you. God, Sherlock, want to mark you, soil you.”

Sherlock swallowed audibly and watched a bead of sweat trail along the alpha’s flushed face, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed past a needing keen. John was suffering, attempting to pacify his needs with his own hands and imagination, but it was all not enough still, and Sherlock hated how the guilt within grew. 

“Beautiful Sherlock, look so young, want to breed you, fill you with my pups. Be so beautiful pregnant, _nnnugh! Oh Sherlock_.”

Sherlock bit his tongue; his cock was growing harder now, nearly functional. The compliments weren’t stopping, they only accumulated. After everything Sherlock had said, John could only say kind things about him. 

“Cute little upturned nose — _Mm_ — soft feather-light dark curly hair. Sherlock… _Sherlock._ ”

Sherlock couldn’t stop himself, not now, and reached down to palm himself through his slacks. He’d forgotten what it felt like to feel his erection -- excluding his heat, that did not count. Massaging himself through his slacks, Sherlock felt himself hardening completely and bit back a moan as his pre-come soaked through his boxer-briefs. 

“Pretty narrow waist, want to hold you tight.” John hummed, thrashing his head upon his pillow and bit into his lower lip to muffle the sound of a desperate moan.

“Pretty blue eyes. Ugh, God, want you. See me now. _Need_ ” John whimpered frenetically and Sherlock couldn’t muffle his own strained whine, his hand loosening his belt, unclasping the button and unzipping himself open all so he could touch himself.

“ _Oh!_ ” Sherlock gasped with surprise as a sudden wetness took him, his cheeks were soaked in his want and this was all too humiliating, because he hadn’t presented until recently, and now masturbating also meant his omega side was responding to stimulation. Sherlock wasn’t going to stop now; he couldn’t when he was staring at the spread open alpha submissive on the screen.

“So close, Sherlock, going to breed your fertile womb. Make your narrow waist stretch and hold all our babies. You’ll be round, so round, and I’ll worship you. Feed you. Love you. Suck you off when I can no longer enter you because you’ll be so bloody pregnant with my load. Fat, heavy and wide. _Ah!_ Going to impale your little womb with my seed.”

Sherlock watched as John belted out a cry, bouncing his hips up and down the mattress as he came into his hands, ropes and ropes of so much come spraying across the bed, over John’s flushed and sweat-dampened skin. Sherlock bit his tongue cruelly as he came just as hard, his hand and briefs soaking in his come, his entrance opening and squirting slick to dampen his cheeks and thighs. 

Sherlock shivered violently through his orgasm and whined a pitchy cry as he came so thickly. He was wet everywhere and the shame and embarrassment steadily grew with the realization he’d just gotten off with thoughts of his husband. He was a pathetic omega who couldn’t deny himself instinct and it was maddening and frightening, because how the hell was he supposed to face John after this?

  



	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock sat in his gray leather chair within the living room of their flat, hands pressed together and steepled under his chin, lost in his contemplations. He’d been aroused? Sherlock masturbated because of John? He’d debased himself with that vulgar act of flesh for John. The last time he’d masturbated — excluding his heat, and from the footage — was… _When did he last masturbate? Twelve years old? No… Good Lord, he had been twelve_. John had made Sherlock into a bawdy deviant and now the suppressants were barely helping. 

Curse that footage and his curiosity — it would appear that Sherlock was perverted, because he found himself growing exceedingly more aware of his sexuality. There was an itch he wanted to scratch, but he refused to give. He would not let his body control his mind. He would will the arousing images of that blasted footage to go unused, because he wasn’t going to masturbate again, certainly not to thoughts of his mate. 

However, Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from being mentally affected by that footage. Now, every time he saw John, Sherlock would recall just what the alpha’s clothes hid. All that skin that appeared hot to the touch. Those strong arms… An expansive toned chest covered in soft dark blond hair. Those broad shoulders… Strong wide hips... John’s firm gluteus maximums. That beautiful alpha cock and… how round and heavy John’s bollocks were. 

Sherlock felt a shiver course down his spine and shut his eyes. Inhaling calm measured breaths, Sherlock refused to be aroused. 

Suppressants repressed his heats, thankfully, but it would appear he was still rather capable of achieving emission. For some, suppressants had the side effect of fully repressing their sexual functions, but apparently, Sherlock just had to be one of the unlucky ones. 

Sherlock paid great efforts in being his natural self around John and for the most part he was proud of himself for keeping up with the false image, still there were lapses. Times when John would lean in close while Sherlock was observing a body and the omega within would flitter happily, setting Sherlock’s stomach to knotting and his breath to hitching. Sherlock had to focus more than ever to restrain the soft whimper struggling to voice itself. 

There were also the times John would bring him tea and biscuits while Sherlock worked on a case or his experiments. His omega wanted to roll over and expose its underbelly to his alpha, submit to its provider. John would be a wonderful provider as he made all their meals and always pushed Sherlock to eat. Sherlock yet again struggled with his inner-self, unable, unwilling to bend. 

The silence of the flat wasn’t helping at all. Sherlock’s thoughts seemed to be going round and round in circles and produced no desirable outcome. Sherlock hated how, even as he contemplated all these things, what he wanted most was for John to come back from work already and start making the dinner he wouldn’t eat more than four bites of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock truly knew how to send mixed signals. Sherlock rejected John when he was in heat, and John, believing space was the answer, tried to give it to the omega. Only, the space had agitated Sherlock into childish fits and so John reverted back to how things had been, yet without the expectations of having more than what it was he could give.

Whatever the reason, John found Sherlock looking at him more than before and he couldn’t understand why. At first he thought he’d had something on his face and even asked Sherlock if that was the case. Sherlock said he didn’t. But then Sherlock’s eyes were back on him after a short while had passed and stayed fixed on him. John was truly confounded. 

Then there was the matter of preparing their meals. Whenever John offered Sherlock a plate of whatever he’d decided to make at that time, the omega would just stare at the plate, at first with soft considering eyes. John would scent the ripening of his aroma, an indication he was pleased in some way, but then the scent would sour over, giving off agitation, and the omega’s eyes would close themselves off to emotion. 

John gave up trying to understand Sherlock and kept being just a little bit more than civil. Even when Sherlock just barely met the line for the civility he’d been promised.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock and John had just finished up a rather long case. Four days on the case and less than 30 hours of sleep, they were exhausted, but albeit starving. John hadn’t eaten all day and he knew it’d been two and a half days since Sherlock ate anything other than tea and biscuits. John didn’t want to go home and cook, he just wanted to get something to eat and then go home and sleep. Sherlock agreed. The only restaurant near them happened to be an upscale French restaurant. There weren’t any fast food restaurants around this blue blood neighborhood and John really didn’t want to go looking — eating some fancy smancy food and catching a cab ride home sounded good right about now.

John’s French wasn’t all that wonderful, but luckily for him he had a genius for a husband and told Sherlock he trusted him to make their orders. While they waited for their waitress, John bowed head into his hand, shielding his eyes from the bright lights as he really couldn’t tolerate them right now. Sherlock was faring far better than John, seated across from him and fiddling with his phone. 

_Screw Sherlock and his transport_.

“Sherlock Holmes... is that really you?” came a call near John’s side. 

John forced himself to sit upright and raise his head and immediately noticed a young gentleman walking to their table. His golden blond hair was perfectly styled, combed loosely back, the wavers of his hair noticeable wisped at his sides, and quite eye catching. He stilled his progression and greeted Sherlock with a dazzlingly attractive smile. He wasn’t particularly tall for an omega; he could be no taller than 5’8. John was amused to find that the man’s clothing sense didn’t much deter from Sherlock’s own: designer, fine material, fitted black jacket and slacks, white button up shirt, vibrant blue tie, and freshly polished Italian leather shoes. He was… most assuredly dressed to the nines.

John was able to detect the man’s scent clearly: raspberries, caramel, and toffee. It gave off an astonishingly pleasing scent. The pungent raspberries softened the sweetness of caramel and toffee. An omega — one, most would consider stunning, assuredly. The slimming suit the omega wore could not hide the curve of his hips and thighs. Most definitely a specimen that fed into every alpha’s dream of the perfect omega, and if John had to be honest, if he wasn’t assuredly and irrevocably in love with Sherlock, John would find himself a bit flustered in this omega’s presence. 

“I thought I’d never have the misfortune of seeing you again after graduating… Apparently I was wrong.” Sherlock said dryly, features void of emotions, but John knew his husband well enough to notice the slight tension at the ends of his lips. 

The man laughed jovially and stuck out his hand for Sherlock to take in welcome. Sherlock eyed the omega’s hand suspiciously, as if it were an offensive snake ready to strike. Raising his nose up with the arrogance only high-class men such as Sherlock could pull off, he refused the offered hand, a clear sign he wouldn’t be civil with this omega. 

The blond omega didn’t seem upset in the least, and most probably wasn’t, as Sherlock wasn’t the most civil of people. The man turned his focus to John and grinned toothily. 

“Hello. I’m sorry for not introducing myself properly. I’m Victor Trevor-” Victor stuck out his hand for John. “—Sherlock’s friend from Uni.” 

Sherlock scoffed at the aforementioned ‘friend’, but John respectfully shook Victor’s hand. 

“John Watson.” John introduced himself, glancing away from Sherlock, and caught sight of Victor eyeing his left hand within his own, realizing Victor was looking for a wedding ring. John thankfully hadn’t slipped back on his ring just yet. They’d just finished their case and as Sherlock and John agreed they would not wear them when working with NSY. 

John pulled his hand out of Victor’s warm grasp, suddenly aware of the curious stare the man gave him, but it abruptly broke when he placed his attention back on Sherlock.

“Still bitter I see.” Victor chuckled to Sherlock, and then turned to explain himself to John. “Sherlock and I were sort of… academic rivals, you might say, always wanting to one up the other. I hate to admit it, but more often than not, Sherlock ended up being the top of our class. Still, I placed number one in our last semester and Sherlock was not at all pleased—”

“You cheated.” Sherlock’s upper lip curled in a soundless sneer, the whites of his teeth flashing through his grinding. 

Victor tossed his head back and laughed harder.

“See what I mean, John? It was only ever a friendly competition for me—a way to keep me on my toes working hard to be number one, but to Sherlock here—”

“Oh, stop your nonsensical twaddle, John doesn’t care.” Sherlock venomously spat.

Victor’s eyes twinkled, unperturbed by Sherlock’s enmity.

“Enough about college. You’ve become somewhat of a celebrity now, haven’t you Sherlock? Seen your pictures in the papers — yours too John.” Victor said John’s name more sweetly than Sherlock’s and earned a murderous glare from the seated omega. John remained oblivious to the act, listening on politely.

“There have been some rumors, and some of those sleazy magazines have hinted that you two might… I have happened to find the two of you in a rather romantic restaurant, so I have to ask — a date?” 

Sherlock’s jaw visibly flexed in his clenching and his body became taut with tension.

“Why do you care?” Sherlock shot back.

John didn’t interrupt; though a part of him wanted to chastise Sherlock for being so… ill-mannered to someone that was being genuinely nice. However, Victor said he was Sherlock’s friend, but from what Sherlock was projecting — they weren’t exactly friends, or maybe that was how his mate felt. Sherlock did have the tendency to bite off the heads of kind, well-meaning people… for example: people like… John.

“Well Sherlock, you are as spirited as ever.” Victor sighed genially, “—because I’m interested in your friend of course.” He ended his explanation by turning to dazzle John with another smile that should be patented _‘I’m that good’_.

John thought Victor was looking for a ring maybe to consider if his friend Sherlock was married now, not because the omega was genuinely interested in him. 

“Uh, listen…” John stammered, more than a bit staggered. He’d been hit on before, but those times were with people wanting to have a fling, and the way they’d gone about it hadn’t left room for the imagination. It immediately turned John off. This was a completely different situation. 

John was married, and he loved his mate, though Sherlock could be a right ass, and their marriage was more pretense than anything else. John was a faithful alpha submissive, and although he was flattered, he’d never accept anyone else.

“He’s not interested.” Sherlock cut in before John could gently decline.

John shot Sherlock a look of irritation, but was met by cold blue eyes that seemed to want to flay him.

“I think that is up to John.” Victor kindly interjected and John smiled in gratitude: at least Victor understood John could speak for himself.

“Well then, tell him John… Tell Victor you’re not interested.” Sherlock folded his arms over his chest and glared across the table at his mate.

John pursed his lips, displeased with the order Sherlock shot his way; just because there seemed to be a rivalry between these two omegas did not give Sherlock any right to treat him so hostilely. They were mates and John was devoted to Sherlock, but he wasn’t a dog and Sherlock needed to stop treating him as such.

“Sherlock.” John sighed softly; this wasn’t appropriate behavior, but Sherlock wasn’t socially appt to appropriateness. 

“What? Do you _want_ Victor?” Sherlock snarled, leaning over the table, seeming to not want to attract attention, yet the volume of his voice raised a fraction more when he did. 

John glanced over to Victor, who was smiling wildly, and then back to Sherlock. He wouldn’t fall for Sherlock’s trap, he didn’t reject another’s affections cruelly — not like Sherlock — and he wasn’t going to now. Whether he acknowledged Sherlock in his wish to refuse or he refused Victor kindly, it wasn’t going to happen with Sherlock present, because he’d just spew snide remarks at Victor and be overly cruel. John knew what it was like to be on the brunt end of Sherlock’s cruelty and he wouldn’t give Sherlock the opportunity to do the same to someone else.

Victor laughed heartily, amused by the battle of wills being so evidently fought before him and in doing so attracted two pairs of eyes. 

“Well this is all so fascinating and I really would like to see what develops, but sadly I’m here with some clients, so I must be heading back to them. I did tell them I only wanted to say hello to an old friend.” Victor graciously elucidated, lightening the mood. 

Retrieving a red leather-bound wallet from his pocket, Victor took out a white card. 

“We should all meet sometime soon. Here is my business card.” Victor offered the card to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t take it, merely glared at it before rolling his eyes, arms crossed tight over his chest as he turned to glare back over to John.

Sighing with disappointment, Victor offered up his card to John and brightened when John took it with a polite smile plastered on his face, ignoring the burning gaze of his husband.

“You can call my cell anytime. I won’t mind.” Victor winked at John.

“Oh, um, that’s nice, I suppose…” John stuttered unnervingly, knowing he wouldn’t. 

“Well then, have a lovely meal, and hoping to hear from you soon, _both_ of you.” Victor stressed ‘both’ with his blue eyes fixed on John, before turning and leaving their table.

…

A tense silence followed. John slipped the card in his pocket, unsure if Sherlock would want it later, but seeing the way he’d responded to Victor, that was highly unlikely. John would throw it away later, when they weren’t in the restaurant where Victor could see, because that was just rude. 

“Well, isn’t that nice. Victor finds you desirable.” Sherlock started in, feigning joyful, and John groaned, bowing his head into his hands once more, not from exhaustion as before, but from frustration. 

“Don’t Sherlock.” John pleaded, because he didn’t need Sherlock’s cruelty right now.

“Oh, was I a bother? Would it have been better for me to leave the two of you alone? Allow that slutty omega to… how do they say it? Oh, yes—cop a feel under the table?”

“ _Sherlock!_ ” John admonished, raising his head and sending him a look of warning.

“You like him.”

“I don’t.”

“You thought he was attractive.”

“That doesn’t mean I like him. Just because people can be attractive doesn’t mean everyone wants them.”

“So you want him? Is that it?”

“No! That’s not—” John paused to lower his voice, unwilling to be goaded by his husband. “Sherlock, this is ridiculous.” 

_Why the hell were they arguing about this?_

“ _Oh_ , so now I’m ridiculous? Not only did I have to see that… that _Victor Travor_ again, but now I have to listen to your insults too? Thank you, John. _Thank you so very much_.” Sherlock’s pale face flushed with his growing anger.

“Sherlock.” John whined, because if he said anything else he worried his omega would take it, yet again, in the wrong way. Apparently, John was horrible at this and should have just shut up.

“Oh, not Victor? Why say my name, go over there and ask to join Victor. I’m sure he’d be _more_ than pleased to have you. I’m sure he’d let you do a great _many_ things to him. Things I _most assuredly_ will _never_ do.” Sherlock hissed the last part as if it were a curse.

“Can we stop talking about Victor, please? Let’s just eat and go home. Okay?”

“Oh, back to Victor are we?”

“Sherlock.” John growled, the alpha within displeased his omega thought him disloyal. John was a faithful alpha submissive. So what if Sherlock’s friend — peer — whatever, was attractive, John wasn’t attracted to him in the least bit. John found Sherlock the most beautiful of anyone and that was what mattered.

Sherlock said nothing, but if looks could kill, John would be buried six feet under right about now.

“Hello, I’m Martha. I’ll be your waitress for today. What can I get for you?” a young brunette asked of them as she approached their table.

John rubbed at his temples as Sherlock acknowledged their waitress and made their orders. This had been a long few days and it was getting longer still. 

_Bloody hell._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lunch was God-awful, painful, and dead silent. John had effectively lost his appetite and mostly just forked at his food while Sherlock stubbornly ate without sending John a look of validation through the whole of their meal.

When Sherlock had eaten his fill, they’d paid and left with the silence following them. The moment they entered their flat Sherlock went straight to bed and John did much the same. John’s sleep was unsatisfying. He was upset with Sherlock’s coldness and that his omega didn’t trust him, no matter the fact that they were mates and John was an alpha submissive. Alpha submissives never cheated. Even if Sherlock were to pass away first, John would never take on another lover. The alpha submissive biology was a strange and fascinating thing for scientists. Once bonded, there were only two things an omega could do that would cause an alpha submissive to die. Alpha submissives lived for their one true mate and when their omega died, it didn’t take much time for the alpha submissive to die. Two years was the longest an alpha submissive could live without their bond mate before death would come. 

The other cause of death for an alpha submissive was if their omega chose to completely reject them as their bond mate. This caused John significant pause and worry, because Sherlock was always rejecting his advances. There was a deep fear that Sherlock would one day grow to hate him and effectively reject him completely, renouncing him as his mate, in which case it would destroy John. 

But John still held hope, because no matter that they were living in civility, Sherlock treated him with a kindness he hadn’t shown to another, except for today, but John knew that was only due to the stress of meeting an old — _friend?_ Eventually, Sherlock would warm up to John again, realize he was just being sensitive and taking his frustration out on John because he loved Sherlock enough to allow his omega to vent it all on him. 

Oh, this was all so confusing. John squeezed his shut eyes tightly, half awake and half asleep, and prayed things would get better in a few days before the darkness completely swallowed him into a deep slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was seated within the cab, his back pressed against his side of the car door while his left leg was gently raised up and propped onto John’s lap. John’s large hands softly pressed around the heel and further up, when lightly pinching at the back of the heel, Sherlock jerked back from the pain and let out a long threatening hiss.

“Mm. You’ve sprained your ankle.” John sighed resignedly.

They’d been pursuing their criminal when Sherlock slipped on a discarded empty bottle of water and effectively twisted his ankle. John refused Sherlock’s demands for him to catch their criminal. John wouldn’t leave Sherlock — it was a thief and they knew who he was now. Lestrade would have to finish up this case without them.

“I’m going to have to bandage and ice it when we get back home. I’ll get some pain-killers in the morning… You know this means you’ll need to rest your leg for the next two weeks or so?”

“Wonderful.” Sherlock grumbled, closing his eyes and thumped his head against the glass window. “Just what I needed.”

John flashed a reassuring smile and lovingly stroked Sherlock’s swelling ankle. 

“It won’t be so bad.”

“We lost our criminal.”

“I called Lestrade, he will handle it.”

Sherlock snorted; his trust in the police was obviously not high.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they finally exited the cab, John paying great efforts in assisting Sherlock out with pressing as little weight as possible on the sprained foot, they stopped before the staircase leading to their apartment.

John could see the dread flicker in Sherlock’s eyes — no matter that John had his arm wrapped around Sherlock’s waist — the omega begrudgingly wrapped his left arm over John’s shoulders. Hobbling up these stairs would be more than difficult. 

“I could carry you?” John offered, and bit back a laugh at the look Sherlock sent him.

“ _You_ carry _me_?” Sherlock’s right brow rose portentously, “I think not.”

“You don’t think I can?”

“Among other things.” Sherlock insulted. 

John scowled, glanced back up the staircase and over to Sherlock. Without another word, John bowed, strengthening his hold around Sherlock’s waist while his other arm curved under his omega’s knees and lifted up, scooping Sherlock in his arms bridal style. 

Sherlock choked out a pitiful cry of surprise and immediately began wiggling in John’s hold, struggling to get his feet back down on the ground. John held Sherlock tightly in his arms and Sherlock’s struggles eventually died down as the omega’s silver blue pierced John murderously. 

“This is undignified.”

“For who?”

Sherlock’s lips pursed, yet still, John noticed the heat steadily deepening upon the omega’s face.

“You’ll hurt your back.” Sherlock offered, hopeful John would reconsider as this was surprisingly embarrassing, and yet Sherlock found it fascinating that John continued to hold him within his arm while remaining unaffected by his weight. 

“I’m not so old.” John answered with amusement. 

“Forty is rather old.” Sherlock interjected, no matter that because of evolution people aged slower and could now easily live up to their late hundreds. 

“I’m quite fit.” John answered and began taking the steps one at a time.

Sherlock swallowed audibly, tucking his arms awkwardly near his chest, and bit his tongue at the closeness that was involved with the way John now held him. This was not a time to be thinking about what John looked like naked, but the blasted footage began replaying in his mind. Now feeling those same hands that had been used to give themselves relief were now touching Sherlock, scenting Sherlock further in his husband’s scent. Sherlock’s head was so close to John’s, that if he wanted, Sherlock could easily wedge his nose against John’s scent gland and immerse himself in his alpha completely. He didn’t even think John would mind — being as John was apparently in love with him, but Sherlock wouldn’t allow his omega’s wishes to take over so completely he’d act familiar with a man he should never be familiar with. 

“Can you unlock the door?” John asked of Sherlock the moment they stopped at their front door.

Sherlock remained voiceless, staring blankly at his alpha for a moment until he understood John’s request and wiggled in John’s hold, enough so he could slip his hand in his pocket and retrieve his own set of keys. Sherlock effortlessly unlocked the door and pushed it open wide so John could continue carrying him all the way to his bedroom.

There, John pressed his knee against Sherlock’s bed and gently lowered Sherlock as if he were weightless. Sherlock stared silently at John, noticing for the first time the deepness of John’s blue eyes, his lips carried a warm shade of pink, and the strength of his bitterly sweet scent as he leaned over him, setting Sherlock’s head kindly against a pillow. 

John retrieved one pillow at Sherlock’s side so he could set it under his omega’s left foot. John then proceeded to take extra care as not to hurt Sherlock while he removed his shoes. Rising off the bed, John quickly left the room and retrieved their first aid kit and an ice pack before making his way back to the bedroom.

Sherlock watched John carefully; his alpha was kind with him as he wrapped his leg up. It confused him. How could John be this nice to someone like Sherlock? All Sherlock had been was spiteful, rude, cruel and unfeeling in regards to John’s feelings for him. True Sherlock was civil, but his civility wasn’t as were most and he could do with some sharing of kindness, but he wouldn’t allow himself to show an inch more of such. Sherlock didn’t know what he couldn’t.

After John finished wrapping Sherlock’s leg, the alpha shifted to seat himself near Sherlock’s waist.

“Let me help you change.” John offered sincerely.

“That won’t be needed. I can do so on my own.” Sherlock cut in, because there was no way he’d allow John to touch him (removing his clothes) and allow him to see Sherlock in a way none, but his mother during his infancy had. 

“But—” John persisted, glancing over to Sherlock’s swelled ankle with worry.

“I can do it myself John. This isn’t the first time I’ve sprained an ankle.” Sherlock explained.

John remained voiceless, but the frown on his face said enough.

“Really, John.” Sherlock sighed, wishing his husband would accept his desire willingly, yet understanding the doctor’s pause. 

“Okay, but you will call me if you need my assistance with anything, won’t you?” 

Sherlock took great efforts not to roll his eyes and instead nodded in confirmation.

“Okay…” John gave, placing the ice pack over the swelled ankle. John didn't leave the room as Sherlock expected. 

Raising a dark brow in question, Sherlock analyzed the hesitation that flashed in John’s deep blue. One part was worry for Sherlock, but there was something else too, something that made John shift awkwardly where he sat near him, something that made Sherlock realize John had something important to say.

“What is it you want to tell me?” Sherlock broke the silence that had built. 

John’s eyes widened for an instant, stunned Sherlock so effortlessly deduced his desires, even when the omega was injured.

“I…” John began lowering his eyes almost guiltily. “There is something I must confess to you. I haven’t been honest with you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock couldn’t explain it, but there was a sudden tremor that took hold within the pit of his stomach. It was an unpleasant feeling that grew as the silence once more filled the room. Suddenly, Sherlock’s mind was churning with the possibilities. Did this have anything to do with…

“You like Victor Trevor?” Sherlock meant to ask, but his question came out more of an accusation and it startled him that his voice was set in a deadly tone, one he’d only used when deeply incensed with Mycroft. 

John’s head snapped up, “Victor—what are you talking about? _No._ ” John hadn’t even thought about Victor since they’d met him at the restaurant.

The unsettling in Sherlock’s abdomen lightened when John repudiated the notion.

“What is it then?” Sherlock barked, hating how he felt lightness that John wasn’t like other alphas who appreciated the looks of omegas like Victor. 

“I… let you think I had no family when no one on my side came to our wedding, because… I have a younger sister I haven’t told you about.”

Sherlock stared blankly at John. Blinking within the silence and trying to understand this new information. 

“You have a sister?”

“Um, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Our marriage happened so fast and I just… I wasn’t able to tell her.”

Sherlock understood their marriage wasn’t particularly conventional and he could understand if John wasn’t close to his sister why he hadn’t told her about their marriage. 

“You still haven’t told her?”

John shook his head and guiltily stared up at Sherlock, seeking acceptance and understanding.

“I… I want to tell her, but she’d be hurt that I got married without her there.”

“I see.”

“I recently went to see her and she asked if I registered. She wants me to find an omega and I couldn’t tell her I already have one. I want her to meet you.”

“You want to introduce me to your sister as the omega you met through registering—which is true, but not tell her that we’re married?” Sherlock surmised matter-of-fact-like.

John stilled, the deepness of his blue searching Sherlock’s face for a hint of anger for having hidden this from him, but found none. Sherlock really didn’t understand John, why would he condemn John for keeping their relationship from a sister who—from what it sounded like, wasn’t close to John at the time. A recent reconciliation between the two siblings could give cause as to why John wanted to introduce him to his sister, and it even explained why he was hesitant on revealing the marriage John hadn’t allowed his sister to be a part of. 

“Well… yes.” John answered, face flushed with what Sherlock interpreted as shame.

Sherlock didn’t speak for a long while, knowing John was waiting for acceptance or refusal to play along with this ruse, that technically wasn’t all a ruse. There would be some truth to it all. However, it would be indubitably boring for Sherlock, but then again…

Sherlock glanced down to his bandaged ankle; the care John had placed in soothing his hurt ankle… the kindness John showed him every day even when Sherlock didn’t deserve it…

“Fine.” Sherlock sighed heavily. “I can meet your sister.”

John raised his head and flashed Sherlock a smile that was all teeth, and that flush that still lingered on John’s face—well, Sherlock didn’t like what it did to his chest.

“Really?”

“ _John_ , you know how I hate repeating myself.”

“But… You’ll do it?” 

Sherlock couldn’t help but roll his eyes this time, but it seemed to be all that John needed to understand as the alpha choked on a contented laugh.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

A warm hand took hold of Sherlock’s and gripped tight, even when Sherlock tensed and stared at their joined hands, never looking away from them.

“You realize you’ll have to play the role of a contented and in love omega, right?”

“Yes John. I’m a rather good actor, what with all my disguises I use when working cases.”

“Right, I forgot about that.”

“As you naturally would.” Sherlock smirked.

“And… um… we might have to um… have another wedding.”

Sherlock’s smirk faded instantly as he yanked his hand away from John and snapped his gaze back up to the alpha once more.

“Pardon?”

John flushed hotly and looked everywhere but at Sherlock as he spoke.

“Well, the um bond bite, Harry will see it and know we’ve… consummated our _‘love’_ , but we will have to have another ceremony for her. It can be small, at the court house and maybe dinner at a restaurant or something after.”

“ _John_.” Sherlock growled, his eyes hardening. This was all so much to be talking about when his ankle was sending pulses of pain through him, but apparently he couldn’t catch a break.

“I’ll plan it all and it will be small, just Harry and her partner, Mrs. Hudson and maybe Lestrade, just to make Harry think it’s an intimate ceremony. You won’t have to do much, just stand there and say ‘I do’. I’m sure the judge wouldn't get all sappy like the priest did.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this haven’t you?”

John rubbed at the back of his neck, ducking his head shyly. “Maybe.”

Glaring at the ceiling, Sherlock inhaled a deep breath, held it for several long beats, before exhaling it heavily. 

“Fine, but I refuse to wear a tux.”

John laughed with relief and nodded adamantly.

“You could come covered in pig’s blood and I’d still marry you.”

“Just so your sister would see?” Sherlock mused fondly.

“Not only because of that.” John whispered seriously.

And there, again that strange feeling in the center of his chest made its reappearance.

“Right… Well if that is all, I really should rest this blasted ankle.” Sherlock attempted to close the conversation, suddenly wishing to be alone as being so familiar with John caused a great deal of confusion for Sherlock.

“Alright, then… I’ll leave you to it then and… if you need anything—”

“I know.” Sherlock gave John a rare and kind smile, because seeing how much John truly worried over him made Sherlock feel light. 

“Good night.” John smiled tentatively back, before retrieving the first aid kit and exiting the room, shutting the door behind him.

John let out a relieved sigh once he was within his own room. He never would have thought Sherlock would agree so readily with the ruse they’d have to play out, especially with the fact they’d have to reaffirm their vows with another wedding, but Sherlock had. John would forever be grateful that Sherlock would do so much for him.

Still, only part of his plan was set, now John would need to see Harry soon. He’d have to convince Harry to keep her recent illness secret from Sherlock—John hated the reasoning for this particular lie, but he’d have to convince Harry that Sherlock didn’t have to know about her past. Their grandfather had been an alcoholic and Harry had been one until a year ago, it was a family humiliation that didn’t need to be discussed with others. Now that Harry was sober and healthy again, there was no reason they should bring about more disturbing and disconcerting conversations of the past. 

This could all work out perfectly if John monitored their first meeting, steering their conversations appropriately. John had to lie to Sherlock and Harry in order to make this work, but it could. He had to make it work because in the end, he’d protected the two people he loved the most. Lying was wrong, he knew this, but in this situation John found himself in, lying was what saved both Sherlock’s and Harry’s life. That, John concluded, was what mattered and there was no shame in it when one understood that.


	8. Chapter 8

Although John had always been social and had many friends, none were closer to him, or as important to him than that of his sister, Harriet. Since the death of their parents, Harry and John had stuck close to one another. They meant everything to each other. Sure they fought and argued to no end, but what siblings out there didn't. In the end they always realized how foolish they were being and would make up. Their bond was stronger than any argument and would most certainly survive a few bruised egos. 

Still... Introducing one's secreted husband as one's bond mate to someone as important as Harry was to John... Well, that was rather nervewracking. 

"Now Sherlock, Harry can be a bit... unconventional, but please try to understand, and please don't be-"

"Myself." Sherlock sighed, this wasn't the first time John had given him warning about his social inadequacy. 

"No. I was going to say, 'Don't be snide,' as we both know you can be," John frowned. 

Sherlock smirked, stuck his nose up priggishly and rang the doorbell.

" _Sherlock_. We're not ready!" John hissed.

"We've been standing here while you reconfirm that I will be on my best behavior for the last 13 minutes."

"Sherlock..." John bit his bottom lip just as the door swung open and Harry greeted them with a wide smile upon her face. 

"Harry," John said with affection, voice trembling.

"Johnny, you're finally here--Hello," Harry greeted, her attention brought to the silent omega. "I've been waiting to meet you."

Sherlock's expressionless features shifted immediately, flashing a brilliant smile. John felt the noise around them dull out as he stared at this new Sherlock, one with a smile that could make angels sing.

Sherlock's mouth began moving and John knew he needed to focus on what he was saying, and he tried, he really did. Only, for in that moment Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist. Sherlock said something then, something that made Harry laugh joyously as she stepped to the side of the door and made a gesture that eagerly welcomed them into her home. 

John swallowed dryly, suddenly unbelievably parched. Unable to fully comprehend what had happened to his Sherlock. Of course he understood Sherlock was an exceptional actor, but that he could so easily play the kind loving mate who could so effortlessly place affection onto him... It was all so much for John to compute. 

Sherlock's arm around his waist tightened and John docilely followed when Sherlock gently tugged him to his side and took steps into the home. John followed Sherlock's lead to the living area where Harry urged them to seat themselves. 

Sherlock and John sat in a love seat just as Harry sat across from them in the twin of their couch and Clare entered with a tray of tea, water, and cookies. John remained seated as Sherlock introduced himself to Clare, flashing her his grin that had done John's heart in.

Clare sat beside Harry and for all that John was worth he focused passed the rapid pulsing of his heart and the rushing of his mind to keep up with their conversation. 

"Yes, well... My darling John knew I was the omega for him, and we didn't want to wait. I'm sorry it has come as a shock, but love waits for no one."

"Oh of course it doesn't! Clare and I wondered if John would ever find someone and I'm so happy he has." Harry's smile widened if possible, she then turned to face her lover's gaze, joy and relief clearly etched in her face.

Clare took hold of Harry's hand and squeezed.

"So tell us everything."

Sherlock's arm firmly brought John as close to his side as possible. His smile softened as if the mere sight of John made his heart melt and his insides turn to fluff. 

"We were set up by a alpha/omega matchmaking service. We went out to an Italian restaurant, my dear John knew I liked Italian food from my profile and he was... so kind, wonderful... I fell hard. Love a first sight if you can believe it. Me, Sherlock Holmes, a man of science, a logistician, fell hard and fast for my John."

John found it hard to think, think more than the constant mantra he repeated within his mind.

_He's acting. He's acting. He's acting._

Sherlock's hand rose, and John's eyes caught sight of it, watching it intently as it neared, until the tips of Sherlock's fingers brushed his cheek, John tried not to flinch, and when Sherlock cupped his face, the alpha within could not be silenced of the soft whine that escaped. 

Sherlock silver gaze flickered at the sound, something unknown flashing across those piercing eyes, but in the next moment it was gone. The face of an in love omega replaced it and the alpha within hummed happily when Sherlock leaned in close.

"My sensitive submissive alpha. You know how much I love you. I'm truly blessed to have a strong and doting alpha as you. Thank you for waiting for me."

John's eyes fluttered closed, his breathing scarce as Sherlock nuzzled his brow and audibly inhaled his scent. John knew it was an act, but his alpha wouldn't accept it, so desperate for a mate such as this one willingly displayed before him. His alpha wanted nothing more than to embrace the omega and show him just how loved he could be, if only Sherlock would let him. 

"Oh Sherlock." John murmured, tipping his head and pressing his nose against the scent gland he'd marked long ago, nuzzling and scenting his mate, reaffirming Sherlock was truly his.

John's mind felt clouded, his heart full, and though he felt Sherlock go rigid against him, his alpha merely breathed out a contented rumble.

There came a clearing of a throat and muffled laughter, and John finally remembered where he was and that Harry and Clare were watching them. John's face felt hot as Sherlock gently pushed him away, far enough for modesty, yet still close enough that his arm hung loosely around John's middle. 

"Well," Clare began, stifling her giggles and looking to her Harry who was just as pleased by the sight of two very in love men. "Tell us, is there going to be a wedding?"

Sherlock smiled, though John noticed the tightness at the corner of his lips when he did so this time.

"We still have to meet my family, but... It won't be too long before we do."

"Oh this is just wonderful. John, I'm so happy for you." Harry commented wholeheartedly contented with this news. 

"I hope you're ready to give up your figure Sherlock. Our John's been wanting pups since forever." Harry teased and John flushed, mortified. 

Sherlock choked on his tea mid-sip, unwinding his arm around John to retrieve a napkin from the coffee table and covered his mouth to cough, attempting to clear his throat.

"Oh dear, Sherlock. Are you alright?" Clare asked with care.

John fought passed his embarrassment and patted Sherlock's back, retrieving a glass of water from the table and offered it up to the startled omega. Sherlock gladly took it and drank it slowly. 

"Yes, I do apologize. I swallowed wrong." Sherlock spoke when he'd recovered from the shock. 

Slipping back into character, Sherlock placed his hand upon the middle of John's thigh, just a fraction lower than what could be seen as inappropriate within society. Giving off the impression they were quite intimate and loving towards each other. 

John couldn't look away from Sherlock's hand.

"We will welcome the day that happens." Sherlock answered smoothly.

John took great efforts to hide the grief within, knowing that day would never come.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm starving. Ready to eat?" Harry asked of them.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock smiled and patted John's leg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was a natural actor, if he'd chosen another life than the one he led, he could have become a phenomenal actor. Sherlock was polite, a gentleman. He portrayed himself as a loving mate. An omega who would care for John better than anyone else in the world. He looked at John as if he were the sun and the moon. He lay on caring affectionate touches as if he couldn't stop himself from touching his alpha.

Harry and Clare were smitten with Sherlock. They called him their brother already. They were planing for future vacations and events to go to. John would have been thrilled if not for the simple fact that it was all a lie.

John had wanted so much to find someone who would love him, even if it wasn't in the way Sherlock portrayed to his sister, if he could find a mate who would have shown him half of that love, he'd have been so happy. Except, John couldn't think like that anymore. John had Sherlock and Sherlock would never love him, even just a little. John wished so much that Sherlock would see the kindness and care he expressed and warm up to him. Even if they were never physical as that idea seemed to unsettle Sherlock the most, John would have accepted affectionate touches and sentimental words.

John didn't regret his choice in marrying Sherlock. How could he? Harry and Sherlock were alive because of his decision and John loved them both. John realized now that even if it wasn't for Harry, he would have married Sherlock regardless of the terms because he'd fallen for the omega at first sight. There could never be no one else for him, his alpha had chosen Sherlock before John had even realized it.

The moment they'd left Harry's place and entered the cab, heading home, Sherlock's act disappeared and the omega exhaled a heavy breath. Pressing himself deeply into his seat, his eyes shut, and his head tipped back. 

"I'm sorry." John found himself apologizing, knowing this couldn't have been easy for Sherlock.

Secretly, John liked how Sherlock touched and spoke to him within his act, but another part of him couldn't fully enjoy it knowing it was a lie. 

"Mm, I just need to lay down and set things in order."

John wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but he remained silent, staring at Sherlock as he took in deep measured breathes, his brows furrowed pensively.

When they arrived home, John set about to checking their blog while Sherlock went to his room early and stayed there for the remainder of the day. When John headed to bed, he lay contemplating Sherlock's behavior and was unable to come to a solid reason as to what was bothering the omega. John supposed the act had taken its toll, or perhaps Harry asking about them having pups had disturbed Sherlock so much more than John realized. John really didn't know, but he hoped it settled out in the end.

John was more than relieved when the following morning Sherlock woke up ranting about starting a new experiment with mold. John wasn't too pleased that Sherlock wanted to cultivate several different types of mold within their home, but it reassured him that whatever had bothered the omega was most assuredly settled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was exasperated, Sherlock and his bloody mold. Not only had he stored his petri dishes of mold in the refrigerator, he'd set them out on the table where they ate their meals, and that was unsanitary. Sherlock didn't think it was as big of a problem as John, and it was bloody infuriating trying to talk sense into a seemingly senseless Sherlock.

The moment John entered the room where his patient was waiting, he wasn't expecting to meet a familiar face. The man sat up on the patient bed, legs crossed, hands pressed behind him, leaning back in a way to accentuate the fullness of his hips and the length of his legs.

"Hello, John." 

"Oh." John interjected with surprise, never expecting to find Victor Trevor as his patient. 

"I know what you're thinking?"

"You do?" John wasn't even sure what to think.

"My personal assistant just reminded me I needed a check up and I thought it'd be nice to meet up again, two birds with one stone." Victor smiled with his eyes, his features softening pleasantly. Kindness in his demeanor, yet John felt an almost animal slyness with his approach.

"Um, listen..." John didn't think this was right. Sherlock certainly didn't like this omega and John didn't think it was right of him to be associating himself with a man his husband wouldn't. 

"Come now, John, give me a check up." Victor encouraged, gesturing to the stool nearby. 

John glanced over to it, contemplating his options.

"I... Uh, I'm not sure this is the best--"

"Why? Sherlock...? The two of you smelled like... but you're roommates, so that's normal. Although, it could... Have I read things wrong? Are you and Sherlock...?"

"No!" John objected, and inwardly cringed.

Victor raised a questioning brow, but his smile remained nevertheless.

"Good." Victor answered, satisfaction clear in his voice. 

John didn't know what to say. If he refused to examine Victor now it might look like it had something to do with Sherlock, and as it were, they were still carrying on their act. Instead, John decided to focus on his job, reminding himself he should just treat Victor like any of his other patients.

"So, have you anyone special in your life right now, John?" John didn't like the way Victor said his name and chose to ignore the question, because that didn't matter. As John checked Victor's lungs and heart, he was painfully aware the omega was staring intently at him.

"You're an alpha submissive, aren't you?"

John dropped his flashlight mid-eye exam and took a step back. Staring in utter disbelief to the omega before him. Victor merely smiled, his smile having taken on a tenderness that had yet to be expressed. 

"How..." John couldn't deny it, something told him even if he did Victor wouldn't believe him.

"I noticed it the moment I scented you." Victor answered simply, though something he saw in John made him realize the alpha wasn't following.

"You don't know, do you? It's probably because you have never interacted with other alpha submissives, but submissives smell different than a regular alpha. You carry the musk of a alpha, but the bitterness of your scent is sweetened, almost like an omega. An alpha submissive's scent is so much sweeter in order to attract their omega counterpart, or so that's what they say. I heartedly agree, by the way."

John flushed at the compliment. No one had ever complimented his scent. It was an insecurity of his he'd always been ashamed of. One of the only things he felt he was lacking.

"How do you know this?"

"I've met a few alpha submissives before... for matchmaking services." Victor's smile faltered then, noticeably drawing inward. John realized someone as high class as Victor would want the best bond mate, and yet even when he'd had his chance to meet the very few alpha submissives, none had chosen him.

"I'm sorry." John murmured, all too easily seeing the connection he had with Victor. He kindly raised a hand to palm the omega's shoulder. John wanted, longed for a mate who would have loved him and yet he'd never have that. Instead he was bound to a omega that rejected him. Victor much like himself had secretly wanted a perfect match and had even sought out submissive alphas in pursuit of happiness, failing as John had.

Victor raised his gaze from the ground and flashed a weak smile. Victor smiled a lot, and where John found that an annoying trait from most, strangely enough Victor looked the best with a smile on.

"Your scent..."

"Hmm?"

"It's wonderful. I've met a lot of submissive alphas, but your scent... I like it the most. _Honestly_."

John removed his hand from off the omega's shoulder and took a step back when he realized just how close they were and that he could easily watch the flush bloom across the omega's face.

"Um right." John mumbled, retrieving his flashlight from off the ground and refocused on examining the omega. 

When John finished his examination and gave Victor a clean bill of health, he felt a sense of loss, not wanting the omega to leave. It confused John, because although Victor was attractive, his alpha wasn't interested in anything that was more than platonic. It was more of a kindred spirit, someone like himself, someone who understood his wants and shortcomings. 

Victor, whatever Sherlock said, _was_ a kind person.

As Victor straightened out his jacket and stood up, John contemplated on whether or not he should do what he wished to do. Sherlock was his husband and he loved him. He'd always be faithful to Sherlock, but he also liked Victor. A part of John wanted to comfort Victor of the same insecurities and pains he felt himself.

"Um... Victor." John spoke weakly, pausing to clear his throat.

Victor glanced up, expectantly.

"I... I heard they have a nice Indian restaurant nearby, and it's about time for my lunch break. Would you...?"

"Yes." Victor cut in, happily, "Yes. I love Indian food."

John found himself answering Victor's brilliant smile with one of his own, not as easily, but it was sincere.

  



	9. Chapter 9

After first meeting Mycroft, John had been ever curious about Sherlock. The few newspaper clippings Mycroft had given him, prompted John to look up his the future mate through the Internet. John had been fascinated by what he found. Sherlock was an intelligent man, if not a little obsessed with Tobacco. 

Now, John found himself doing the same with Victor Trevor, and what he found... It was both what he'd expected and didn't expect. As John suspected, Victor Trevor was a well educated man from old money, much like Sherlock. That Victor's family owned oil, coal mining, and a prominent London publishing house--that, John had not expected. 

John felt embarrassed that he'd taken Victor to a small and unimportant restaurant. Victor must have been more accustomed to higher class restaurants, such as the French restaurant they'd met in. 

Regardless, at that time Victor seemed more than comfortable with their location. He'd given off the impression that he enjoyed the food and John's company. They spoke about a great number of things: their schooling, John's work as a army medic, Victor's travels to the Middle East in relation to the places John had been, and so much more.

Victor was a kind man, but he also held a strength of character and sarcasm that fit John's perfectly. They both enjoyed so many of the same things. The more they'd spoken the more John realized how lonely he'd currently felt. True, he'd always been social, but now, spending some time with Victor had made John realize, that since he'd left the army, he'd only had Harry, and to a certain extent Sherlock.

Something about spending time with Victor was different. Harry, John spent less time with now. It hurt to lie to her, his guilt was causing him to pull away. Sherlock, well like his sister, the guilt was killing him. He hated lying to his husband, but John couldn't mend his lies with affection because Sherlock was so bloody repressed. 

Victor... Yes, John was lying by omission, not divulging that he and Sherlock were married, but that was a lie that would soon be remedied when they married before Harry and went public. Still, Victor wanted to be friends and John didn't feel an overwhelming amount of guilt for keeping this one thing from the omega, because he held no sense of duty or obligation. Not like with Harry and Sherlock.

Even now, knowing the surmountable differences between them, John wanted to keep Victor close, develop a strong friendship with him. Sherlock wouldn't be pleased, John knew this, but for once John felt happy. He had someone who understood his pains, who wanted to know him, who wouldn't hide away in their mind palace when things got tense. John wanted Victor, someone who could be just his, his escape from the stressors of his life and he didn't want Sherlock to find out. 

He wasn't having an affair. He wasn't in love with Victor. He just wanted this kindred spirit to remain undisturbed. He knew Sherlock would hate it and demand he stop associating himself with Victor, and John didn't want to. Sherlock was emotionally cold and distant, John needed something to balance the stressors of his life of lies and this was it. So no, John wouldn't stop seeing Victor, not even for Sherlock, and so this friendship of theirs would have to remain a secret.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Three Months Later_

John bit back a smile, staring at a eagerly awaiting Victor. Those kind blue eyes wide with interest, the impatience of his form shown as he leaned closer, pressing his upper half over the small table set between them.

"Colin Firth... Of present." John answered.

"No!" Victor cried, horrified, raising up his hands, as if he were throwing this catastrophe into God's hands.

John let out a uproarious laugh when Victor scrunched up his nose. It was more than clear Victor disagreed with his personal choice of most handsome omega celebrity.

"Come now. He's a lovely omega."

Victor grimaced at the notion.

"No, John, no. He's so..."

John frowned knowing the next word and Victor bit his bottom lip, holding it back. But then the omega hissed with hilarity.

"Distinguished."

"Old. I know you want to say it." John smiled and Victor covered his mouth to stifle back his giggles.

"And to think I was just about to say Alan Rickman." John waited for it and wasn't disappointed when Victor let out a displeasing groan.

"No John. No, no, no! Have you heard his voice?"

John laughed, "I know. It's bloody gorgeous."

Victor shook his head and gave him the cutest of bitch faces John had ever seen.

"Okay. Your turn. Who is the most handsome alpha celebrity on your list."

"Easy. You." Victor flirted, unashamed.

John blushed having walked himself right into that one. Victor did flirt with him, but John knew Victor understood dating wasn't something he was open to. So it was all harmless. 

"Seriously Victor." John recovered.

"I was serious, but okay, second on my list is.... hmm... Oh, John Barrowman."

"Oh, come on. He's nearly the same age as Colin Firth."

"Well, he's not _that_ close and he most certainly aged better than either Firth or Rickman."

John smiled. Victor and his games. Though this one was rather fun. John was glad Victor talked him into playing it.

Victor smiled shyly up at John and spoke, "John, I've got some tickets to this jazz festival next Saturday. Would you like to join me?"

"Sure. That sounds great. I love jazz."

Victor's eyes softened and he replied simply, "I know you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock stared across from the kitchen where he sat before his microscope and to John, seated in the living area writing a blog on their latest case. Sherlock knew something had changed with the alpha, but he was unsure as to what it was. All he knew was that three months ago things started to change.

John came home an hour later each day from work. He went out almost every weekend to spend time with his sister or Lestrade. That was all fine with Sherlock, until last night.

Last night, John got dressed to go out with Lestrade for drinks at a nearby bar. After John left, Sherlock received a text from Lestrade informing him of a case he needed his help on. Sherlock went to the crime scene expecting to find John with Lestrade, but it was just the D.I. When Sherlock asked where John was, Lestrade couldn't understand why he should know where the alpha was.

Sherlock immediately left the crime scene, ignoring Lestrade's calls for him to come back. Instead of focusing on the case, Sherlock went home, sat in his chair and waited for John's return. John came home at 11:15PM and when Sherlock asked how his time with Lestrade had gone, John smiled widely and said it was good.

Now, staring across to the relaxed alpha, Sherlock contemplated what his husband was hiding. If John had been a regular alpha, Sherlock would have concluded he was cheating, but John was a submissive alpha. John wasn't a cheater. His biology made him monogamous.

Sherlock had let his guard down. He'd given John his full trust and now the omega was going to find out what it was the alpha was doing that he had to lie to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This wasn't like Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't a stalker. Sherlock didn't go around validating those he associated himself with were being honest with him. But John was different.

Sherlock leaned back in the shadows of the night, pressed against the brick wall of a closed bank and stared across the street and into the small, nearly empty café. He couldn't believe his eyes. Yet, seated near the large window of the café, sat John - his John Watson, his alpha, mate, husband, - and across from him was seated Victor Trevor.

_Victor Trevor. You've been seeing Victor this whole time. Three months. Three whole months and I didn't even realize it?_

There it was again. That pain in his chest. Only this time Sherlock couldn't ignore it, because the discomfort, the pressure that felt unbearable, was slowly destroying him. Inhaling a sharp breath, Sherlock turned away from the sight before him, shut his eyes and tried to erase the sight of the two of them smiling at each other.

  



	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock left soon after bearing witness to John's betrayal, because this most certainly was a betrayal. This was a betrayal most foul, because John was telling lies all so he could bond with that... Victor, knowing how Sherlock detested the omega.

Sherlock knew he needed time to gather his thoughts. To think over everything he'd discovered, yet this one time Sherlock wasn't behaving rationally. Instead of sitting in his chair and slipping into his mind palace for further contemplation, Sherlock kicked over the red chair - reserved for John. 

The omega within belted a furious cry. Claws lengthened and dug into the wooden table before him, peeling away the darkness, revealing pale yellow wood. Sherlock furiously snarled and upturned the desk.

"That blithering idiot, _Victor Trevor!?_ "

Breathing through his anger, his body strumming, trembling uncontrollably, Sherlock was faced with the truth he'd always known. Victor Trevor was the perfect embodiment of what an omega should be, so of course John would be tempted. Submissive alpha or not, John was attracted to that... _that omega_. 

John would never cheat on him. Of course he knew this. He wasn't an idiot. Biology proved that alpha submissives were monogamous to the extreme. That didn't mean feelings for another omega couldn't arise. 

John had looked so... so relaxed, carefree, at peace with Victor. 

Sherlock shut his eyes, one hand clawing at his shirt, straining the fabric as he clenched a tight fist around the cloth placed over his chest and his aching heart. Something was physically wrong with him. His left arm wasn't numb, so it couldn't be a heart attack, yet this... If this agonizing sharp pain wasn't a heart attack, Sherlock didn't know what it could be.

His eyes stung, and the racing of his mind couldn't determine the cause, or what it meant until liquid slid past the rims of his eyes and down his flushed cheeks. Tears? Sherlock had no reason to will the tears now. He wasn't working a case in which he needed to manipulate someone into getting what he wanted, and yet the tears came and would not stop, no matter how he struggled to stop them.

He couldn't remember the last time he cried. 

_John..._

This was all John's fault. That alpha was the cause of his abnormalities. Because of John, Sherlock masturbated one time more than that one time during puberty and one heat. Because of John, Sherlock was suffering from painful palpitations of the heart.Because of John, Sherlock was crying like a child. 

Hateful. It was all hateful and John's fault.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the next day when everything fell apart... their friendship - If what they had could be classified as such - disintegrated and Sherlock was left alone within the silence of 221B. Sherlock's nimble fingers clenched to his shirt tightly, just over the pounding of his heart as he struggled to breathe. The pain was too much. This was not normal.

Sherlock staggered on unsteady legs to the sofa where he collapsed heavily upon it, and dug his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. Sherlock's trembling hand dialed for help. 

"999 dispatcher. What is your emergency?"

Struggling to get his words out, Sherlock rasped. "I think... I think I'm having a heart attack."

~~~~~~~~~~~

_Twenty Six Minutes Earlier_

Sherlock watched John as he entered their home, having arrived from work. One hour later than he had been three months before. Which meant he'd seen Victor.

John halted in his steps, the door gently shutting behind him, as the alpha took notice of Sherlock seated in his gray leather chair. The omega's legs were crossed, his shoulders pressed back low in his seat, one hand palmed his lower thigh. The index and middle finger of his left hand delicately pinched the lit fag in his hand. 

Sherlock locked eyes with John as he took a deep inhale of nicotine. Holding his breath as he drew the fag away and leisurely dabbed the ashes over a saucer filled with used up butts of cigarettes, and resting on the arm of his chair.

"You're smoking." John felt a sense of worry take root. Long ago learning of Sherlock's vices and that if the omega was smoking, this couldn't be leading to anything good.

Sherlock shot John a withering smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Can't get anything passed you." Sherlock mocked, smoke exhaling out of his mouth along with his words.

John's brows furrowed, "What's wrong, Sherlock? What's happened?" John hurriedly made his way towards the omega and seated himself in the red chair.

Sherlock took another long drag of his cigarette, and blew the smoke in John's direction.

"I learned how phenomenal of a liar my husband is." Sherlock laughed humorlessly, raising his other hand to palm his face, bowing his head to shield his eyes for a moment. In a desperate attempt to hide the pain that wanted to be let free.

John paled. This was it. Sherlock had finally learned the truth of their marriage. He wasn't sure how, but it was only a matter of time before Sherlock had deduced the truth. John had been so careful, but still he was unable to hide this painful truth of their marriage from his mate.

"I'm so sorry--"

"Stop seeing him." Sherlock growled, his head raising up to meet John's stare. Cold blue willing the alpha give to his demands.

John paused, staring dumbly at the omega.

"What?"

"I know who you meet when you lie to me. Victor Trevor. Three months, John."

John felt cold realization take root. He felt like a fool and yet, still, there was relief, because Sherlock hadn't found out the truth of their marriage. John could never stomach the hurt that truth might cause. This... John knew he'd done wrong by lying to Sherlock about Victor, but this was a lie, John could handle.

"I'm sorry for lying, Sherlock. I never intended to meet with Victor. I'm not sure how you found out, but Victor came to me as a patient and we got to talking and I... I'm sorry for befriending him. I knew you wouldn't like it. Still, I did, and... He's a good person, Sherlock. I like spending time with him." John spoke softly, knowing his words were harsh in that he didn't show so much repentance as he did sympathy.

Sherlock stared blankly at the alpha for a moment. Flakes of paper floating away from his fag. Then a snort of hilarity dispelled from the omega, followed by erratic laughter that left John staring on warily.

"Sherlock."

"Hateful. All of it." 

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know you two don't get along. I know I should listen to you, because you are my husband and mate. I would, if not for... Sherlock, please understand I'm not trying to anger you. I only... I need..."

Sherlock's eyes flashed with revulsion, "What? What do you need from that... _that pea-brained omega?_ "

John shot Sherlock a look, not liking that his mate was insulting the other omega, but given John's lie, he could understand his spite.

"I need someone who understands me, and Victor is one of the only people that understands how I feel."

"It's because of me? Isn't it? I'm too cruel?"

John bit his bottom lip. "I... You're not cruel necessarily, just reserved - repressed really. I understand you are not given to sentimental expressions, but Victor... He's kind and... Sherlock, trust me. I'm yours in every way, but I need this friendship in my life right now."

"You are not mine in every way... I saw you... I saw you and... _him_ at that café. You're giving yourself emotionally to him. I saw the way he looked at you... John, this friendship of yours... It will end badly. He likes you. I could see that."

John's stare turned warm at Sherlock's words, sensing the insecurity that Sherlock would adamantly deny. "You know how I feel about you, Sherlock. My feelings for you-"

"Don't." Sherlock cut John off, raising his hand up in a halting manner as he shook his head. "Please stop. Don't talk like this. I'm only your husband in name."

John's gaze hardened. Sherlock's words held bitterness, and a bite that always stung. 

"I'm aware. I'm clearly aware of how I disgust you with my feelings." John's anger flared. Because all this time he'd been kind and submissive for Sherlock and he'd been burned each time. This one thing of his he needed, Sherlock wished to deny him, and even when John tried to pacify the omega, he was left insulted. 

"John." Sherlock sighed, dabbing the cigarette out on his saucer.

"I have only ever been kind, understanding, and patient with you. I deserve to know why I repulse you so. Come on, Sherlock. Let's be honest with each other. What is it that you hate so much about me? What? My looks? Status? Upbringing? Is that it? Am I not posh enough for you? Am I not of your level? Tell me!"

Sherlock glared murderously at the alpha for his accusations. As if Sherlock would be so superficial. None of that mattered. Sherlock simply didn't find he had the desire for expressions of affection. Or rather, he didn't allow himself, because sentiment was a weakness that would destroy him. 

"It bothers me that you can lie to me. That you could willingly bond, emotionally, with another omega. That omega being _Victor bloody Trevor_ is just... icing on this horrendous cake. With this newly formed friendship, you've made me into the discarded omega."

"I certainly have not. You are my omega, and I... You know how I feel, but I know you don't wish to hear those words. Because I feel this way about you, I kindly keep those feelings to myself, but it doesn't change what exists in my heart."

"You married me! You went into heat assuming I would so willingly accept you as my alpha?" Sherlock didn't know where he was going, but now that they were here, he was letting everything out.

"I don't know what you want from me, but that... I did so out of love. I've told you before just how much I love you." John pleaded desperately, confessing what he knew Sherlock hated to acknowledge, but not knowing what else he could say to placate the omega. 

"You think because you are kind, understanding, and patient, that I would love you in return? You must think because I'm an unattractive omega that I will submit to the first alpha that shows an interest in me? You are wrong! I refuse to allow anyone to possess me!"

"I don't wish to possess you, Sherlock, I've only ever wanted to love you! I married you because I fell in love with you. Just one look was all it took. Don't you ever doubt that you are gorgeous."

The compliment didn't soothe Sherlock's hurts, because it was all hogwash. Pity was not what he needed right now. "That fault then lies with you. I never promised anything regarding love, because I do not... and will never love you." Sherlock stood from his chair and walked away from the alpha and turned to face the window, looking out at the bustling city, and yet comprehending none of it.

John sat heavily in his chair, allowing the next few minutes to pass in heavy silence.

"A marriage born out of one part love, another necessity... How does it work?" John rasped.

Sherlock bit his tongue, fists clenching at his sides. 

Silence was their answer. 

"I was... forced into this marriage." Sherlock broke the silence with a truth known.

John stared tiredly at the omega. "I'm the one to blame?"

"No!" Sherlock snapped his head in John’s direction, but when he met those sad doughy eyes, his couldn't bear to stare at them for long and looked back out the window. 

"I'm sorry." Sherlock whispered, past the stinging of his heart, eyes clenched tight, never having expected their talk to go this badly.

John huffed a sad laugh. "For what? Sorry for the countless rejections? Or that you find my love for you repulsive? Maybe for the fact that I'm an alpha that only wants to possess you as my own, willing to force you into this marriage?"

Sherlock winced as John threw back all of Sherlock's wrongs, and those weren't the whole of it.

"No... I... don't know how to do this... speak of sentiment."

"Sentiment is beyond your capacity to understand. You are heartless... Is that it?"

"No. You don't understand." Sherlock spoke weakly, turning to face John again, although it caused his heart great distress. John's eyes gleamed in the light, and when he blinked next, the tears fell and Sherlock felt as if his heart were going to stop. 

"No... I understand you fully." With that said, John rose from his chair and quickly left the flat. 

John left. John left and Sherlock couldn't breathe because he didn't know if the alpha was going to come back.

"Oh... _Oh._ Oh no."

  



	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock rose from the hospital bed soon after the doctor left the room. He finally knew that his heart was undoubtedly healthy. Still... He felt weary at the realization of what this pain could be.

The door opened and Sherlock's head snapped up. He sent a ferocious glare at the man standing beyond it.

"What are you doing here?" The omega spat.

Mycroft pursed his lips and sent Sherlock a look that clearly said the answer was not needed as it was obvious _why_ he came.

"Heart attack? Really, Sherlock. A man as intelligent as yourself cannot understand the makings of a heart?"

"Get out." Sherlock hissed.

"From what the file says, it would seem that you suffered a panic attack... I think we know better. Though, I do believe you are still in denial."

Sherlock answered Mycroft's observation with an exasperated sigh. Buttoning up his fitted jacket, he stepped towards the door, and took hold of the handle.

"John is a good man."

Sherlock's grip on the doorknob turned vice-like. How dare Mycroft talk about John as if he didn't know. It was clear, even to Sherlock, that John was a good man. But that didn't change how Sherlock wasn't.

"Leave us alone." Sherlock gave as his farewell and strode out of the room, no care to wait for his discharge papers. Mycroft would handle it. Instead, Sherlock tried not to contemplate what Mycroft had said.

Mycroft inhaled a deep breath, held it for a lengthy pause, before exhaling all his frustration. If Sherlock wasn't going to do what needed to be done, he would have to intervene.

Retrieving his cell from his coat pocket, Mycroft dialed a number and waited for a response. 

"Sir." An agent greeted.

"Do it now."

"Yes, sir."

With such few words exchanged, Mycroft ended the call with a sense of sureness that all would be as he wanted. The government official stepped out of the hospital room. As he walked the hall, he imagined every ghastly thing Sherlock would want to do to him when he discovered what actions the older Holmes had taken. However, this was what needed to be done. He could handle Sherlock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John didn't know where to go. So he walked. He walked with no set upon destination. He walked until his feet hurt and pulsed along with his breaking heart. His life... married life... was in ruins. He felt defeated, pathetic. Other alphas would laugh at him. Unable to understand how someone so sought after could be so pathetic within a union to an omega that found him repulsive. Maybe it was John's fault? Maybe if John was more good looking and came from old money, maybe Sherlock could have fallen for him? Maybe John just lacked any sense of appeal for someone like Sherlock?

God, maybe he just wasn't good enough. Sherlock couldn't be blamed for having taste. He came from a family that had given him everything he'd ever wanted, and now he'd had to settle for someone like John.

John needed to get away. He didn't have anyone he was truly close to. Not Harry, because there were all the lies he'd recently fed her. Even Victor, who was becoming a close friend wasn't close to him on a personal level, because of the secrets he was hiding.

Maybe John could leave, take a few days for himself? Yes... John had more than enough money to run away, but he didn't want to use that money. _That_ money was money he'd received with his lies, and if he wasn't using it for the home or for Sherlock, John wouldn't touch it.

His money he earned through his work was a decent amount. Not enough for him to permanently run away. But he didn't want to run away forever, he just needed... He needed to be away from Sherlock. He didn't want to see him. To look into those cold, unfeeling eyes right now would break John's heart beyond repair. He already had to subject himself to a lifetime of being cruely rejected and ignored by his omega. Never to have Sherlock's heart, nor could he ever give himself to his omega. 

With these thoughts in mind, John hailed a taxi and called Sarah. He informed her that he would be unable to come to work for the next three days, due to an emergency. John felt horrible after the call, hating to lie, and this was a lie. Because, although his personal life felt like it was crumbling to pieces, this wasn't a emergency that would hinder his working ability. But right now, John didn't want to be around people.

John arrived home later that evening with the full intent of packing some clothes and going to some hotel for the next few days. He didn't expect to find Sherlock there, pacing the living room floor and glancing at his wristwatch just as John opened the door and entered.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock demanded, snapping angrily at the alpha the moment he realized he'd come back.

John opened his mouth to respond, but was quickly cut off by the omega's ranting.

"I said you don't understand, and instead of letting me explain myself, you leave, assuming false things in regards to my capacity for sentiment. You're an educated man, you shouldn't just walk out on me, knowing nothing of how I feel!" Sherlock was hollering with rage and all John could think was that Mrs. Hudson would be coming up if Sherlock didn't stop now.

"I needed you and you just..." Sherlock's body trembled with his words, breaking their gaze at this sudden admission.

John truly didn't know what to do... He remained standing near the door and staring at the omega who was still shaking. He didn't want to assume anything, but... It appeared to him at least... Sherlock might be upset by his absence... Scared that he might not have come back and John felt guilt weigh heavily on him, because he'd intended to leave, for a few days, but leave regardless. 

"I'm sorry." Sherlock exhaled shakily, meeting his stare once more, a look of sincerity there that John hadn't ever seen before. "Don't go."

John wasn't sure how Sherlock could have deduced his intentions, but then Sherlock spoke, explaining.

"I called your place of employment... I thought you might have gone in. They mentioned you wouldn't be in for a few days."

"Oh..." John whispered softly, bowing his head and looking at his shoes. The subconscious submissive gesture going unnoticed by the alpha, but not the always observant omega. 

"I'm sorry." Sherlock rasped, repeating himself, something John knew Sherlock hated to do, but then again, if he felt truly repentant, he was trying to appease the hurt John felt.

"Explain yourself... If I don't understand, make me understand." John took two steps forward and closer to the omega, still not close, but nearer.

Sherlock's hands trembled noticeable, far more than his body as he clasped them together and clenched them tight. Glancing over to their respective chairs before meeting John's stare, the omega moved to seat himself and waited for John to do the same.

John stared at his chair warily, the last talk they'd had there was a horrid one. He could still leave, but John could see the thought of him leaving had unsettled the omega enough. John couldn't leave, even if all he wanted right now was to get away from the omega. 

Closing his eyes and inhaling a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm, John seated himself in his red chair and waited for the omega to explain himself.

"We agreed this marriage was going to be one by name only and you went against that."

John's face hardened, eyes warning Sherlock that this was not going to end well if the omega was only going to rehash what they'd already addressed.

Sherlock glanced away and licked his lips nervously, struggling to put his thoughts into words.

"I've never felt... anything for anyone."

John shut his eyes and tried not to give to emotions if Sherlock was going to admit to the beliefs he held. God forbid it was worse than John thought. _Not asexual, please._ That, John wasn't sure how he'd accept the fact that there would be no possibility of Sherlock ever expressing any type of physical wants. He still held hope that Sherlock would come to love him one day. That he could warm the ice surrounding Sherlock's heart.

"I... You're bloody frustrating." Sherlock huffed agitatedly, "I've never wanted to yell at someone more than you. Lord, not even Mycroft drives me into fits of anger like you do. I... You are kind, understanding, and patient, but beyond that you are... You have always... stayed. I... don't know how to speak... in regards to sentiment, but I... I feel the most sentimental about you... No one else... just... you."

Sherlock's trembling had gone down, but his hands still clenched tightly to one another to calm the erratic movements that remained. 

"Don't leave." Sherlock whispered, head bowing low, clasped hands rising up to press against his forehead as he leaned forward and dipped low in his seat.

Something warm swelled in John's heart and he couldn't stop his eyes from watering, because the absolute defeat and fear in Sherlock's plea broke him. 

It wasn't love. Or maybe it was and Sherlock just didn't realize it. What it proved for certain was that Sherlock does have the capacity to feel something. That... John smiled weakly, knowing it wasn't a easy road ahead of them, but he could handle this. 

John lifted a hand up and gently palmed Sherlock's clasped hands, causing the omega to raise his head up and stare on with hesitation.

"Okay..." John murmured softly, offering the omega a soft smile.

"Okay? You won't leave?"

"I would never leave you, Sherlock. I did call off work, but only for three days. I needed time to accept that you were... heartless." John answered honestly, his tone gentle as not to offend Sherlock more with his words of truth.

John's hand pressed between Sherlock's two, and the omega opened them up, unsure what John wanted. When the alpha took Sherlock's left hand in his own and raised it to his face the omega took a sharp intake of breath. Sherlock stared wide eyed as John raised his hand up to press against the alpha's rough cheek and nuzzled it as if it were the most treasured of things, and it was. Anything of Sherlock's would forever be treasured by John.

"Is this okay?" John husked, inhaling deeply, scenting his omega as he opened the large hand in his and palmed his cheek with it. Pressing himself insistently into the touch, imagining with his eyes shut that Sherlock was willingly cupping his face like he was most loved.

"Um..." Sherlock felt his mind cloud, unsure how to respond and remained pliant to John's manipulation of his hand. 

Sherlock bit his tongue holding back a whine when John dragged his hand to stroke the alpha's scent gland. His face flushing at the sight of John parting his mouth in a breathless gasp, followed by a pleased hum that vibrated against the alpha's neck.

The omega shot out of his chair, wrenching his hand back and clutched it close to his pounding chest, shielding it with his other hand.

John looked up at Sherlock in surprise before the embarrassment set in.

"Sorry, I... got carried away."

"It's... fine." Sherlock found the ability to respond. "I... Goodnight, John." 

He didn't pause to hear John's response as he'd bolted for his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. Pressing his back against the door, Sherlock bit his tongue in an attempt to cuff the needing moan his omega sang out. 

Sherlock shook his head, attempting to ignore what everything about this horrible day had made him realize. If he didn't say it, then it didn't exist. Sherlock wasn't changing. Nothing had to change. Their marriage was still in name. John wasn't going to leave. Sherlock could do this. Continue this civility they had for each other. Allow himself a closeness that could be classified as friendship. But in the end, nothing had to change. Nothing would change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months had come and gone and during that time, John found himself glad they'd had those two important conversations. There was less tension in their marriage, less, being that there was still the tension of John continuing to have his friendship with Victor Trevor.

John knew it bothered Sherlock, but he also needed someone for himself. Someone he could talk with. John had gotten closer to Victor. They'd begun to tell each other more personal things about themselves. John still hadn't told Victor about his marriage to Sherlock yet, because Sherlock hadn't yet decided on when he'd be open to having another wedding ceremony for John's sister.

However, John did see Victor. It was less than before Sherlock discovered their secreted friendship, but he knew it was far more than what Sherlock would have wanted. None, would be most pleasing for his omega. John always told Sherlock when he was going to meet up with Victor, and where they were meeting. He always felt guilty when Sherlock's eyes turned soft and directed their focus on anything but John's own. He didn't like it, but John was not ready to give up this friendship. He needed a friend in his life right now. 

Every time John prepared himself to leave their flat and meet up with Victor, he'd first find Sherlock wherever he was. John would daringly place his hand on the omega's shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze, and Sherlock--each and every time-- would stare at him and wait for it, knowing it was going to come.

John knew it didn't necessarily amend his faults and wrongs of doing this one thing, but this one thing he needed, and Sherlock was allowing it, though it didn't make it easy on his husband.

_"You're the one I love... Just you."_

Confessing his love was easier now. Though he knew it was never welcomed, the affirmation that John wasn't replacing him with another omega seemed to make John's actions bearable.

Sherlock would always answer John's confession with a rigid nod and continue with whatever it was he'd been doing at the time. John would leave with a heaviness pressing against his shoulders and a sickening churning of his stomach. 

John knew he was a horrible husband. He'd been lying to Sherlock since the day they'd met and although Sherlock wasn't a saint, he didn't deserve to have this. Have John being friends with a man he didn't like. John tried to reason with his guilt. If Sherlock only trusted him, than this friendship couldn't and shouldn't be viewed as a betrayal. John never won out with his guilt, but his stubbornness and need for kindness didn't yield either.

It was a quarter after 10:00PM, when John made it back to the flat. He didn't want to come home later, as he knew Sherlock would be waiting up for him. The omega would make excuses for being there when John came back, but John knew it was all because Sherlock didn't want to admit to the real reason. The realness of how Sherlock cared for John could not be doubted now. Not after Sherlock had confessed so much that night in relation for his ability to carry sentiment for another person.

It was in the moment that John opened the flat door that he scented something was wrong. There was a ripeness; vanilla, toasted sugar, and cocoa. _Sherlock_. John had long ago labeled Sherlock's omega sweetness, but this... This was entirely different. That soft, light sweetness had turned strong, almost musky. Sweat, salty and pungent layered over it. The wave of omega sweetness sent John stumbling back and into the door, effectively shutting it behind him as his senses clouded.

" _No!_ What are you doing here?" Sherlock cried out and John struggled to open his eyes, never having realized he'd shut them.

His sight was momentarily blurred by the sudden yeasty sweetness that burned his nostrils, and John knew then what was happening. Blinking his eyes to clear his sights, he found Sherlock leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, a mess of food and bottled water set out before him. His lean legs trembled, attempting to remain upright. Dark curly bangs dampened with sweat clung to his forehead. The omega's alien-like features softened with the healthy flush brightening his cheeks. His eyes, silver and piercings, were more open than John had ever seen them before. There was no secrecy in them. They were all but bleeding out their inner most thoughts. 

The omega stared at John with disbelief and heartbreaking pain. No solid defiance left of the omega John had always known. No longer void of emotion. These eyes held a depth unmatched, so full of everything John had always wanted to know.

Sherlock was growing taller... No. John was sliding down to the floor. It was suddenly too hard to breathe. So hard to think. John could vaguely recall Sherlock's words and then, after a embarrassing moment of pause to rearrange his thoughts he recalled the text Sherlock had sent him not more than half an hour ago.

_Don't come home. Book a hotel. I don't want to see you. I will text you when you can come back._

_S.H._

Why was that important again? Oh, right, Victor. Sherlock had to be upset about Victor. Why this visit with his friend bothered Sherlock more than the rest, John was unsure, but he cut his visit with Victor short to come back and talk with his husband. He hadn't want to hurt Sherlock and he needed to make sure Sherlock understood he loved him.

"You imbecile!" Sherlock cursed and swiped a trembling hand over the kitchen counter, knocking off the toaster and enjoying the sight of it breaking to pieces.

John must be going insane because he couldn't focus on one thought for long. 

"I texted you! Why don't you ever listen to me? Are you that much of a simpleton!" Sherlock was shouting, but his words were round and choked and John could hear the panic and voiceless tears that wanted to be released.

Sherlock continued his tirade of insults and the words dulled out, because all John could hear, feel, was the pulsing of his heart. It thrummed through him. Pulsed harshly along his neck and throbbed painfully at his temples. His eyes were shut again because he couldn't look at Sherlock right now. 

His breathing, he needed to focus on calming his breathing, but that yeasty sweetness was growing. It filled the flat with its warmth. John's mouth felt wet. Too much saliva. He tried to swallow it down, but he was salivating in the scent that was spreading over him, filling his nostril, soaking up in the fabric of his clothes.

"Get out! OUT JOHN!" Sherlock's voice broke on the strangulated octave it reached, and more crashing of kitchen appliances followed.

John's body trembled, unable to control itself, unable to understand what it was he'd realized moments after entering, because that scent was driving him to madness. He felt hot. The humidity of the flat was unusual. Not as it was when he left. It had grown hot. His skin was warm, flushing with the heat. Perspiration took him and then, then he felt wet in a completely different way. He was excited. An erection.

The alpha submissive exhaled a heavy breath at the realization he was hard.

"Nungh!" John grunted, gritting his teeth together, his briefs feeling too tight, and suddenly they were dampening, cotton soaking up the copious amount of pre-come the head of his cock spouted. Later, when John could think clearly he'd be mortified that his body had responded so readily, but the scent was the cause. It was driving him wild.

A piercing whimper broke through the silence, followed by dishes breaking across the tiled floors of the kitchen. John's eyes snapped open and set their sights on Sherlock as the quaking omega crumpled to the floor, surrounded in the mess of broken appliances and dishes. 

"No." Sherlock whimpered, fisting his damp hair, pulling at the strands. "No. No. No." 

Sherlock began sobbing, unbidden, tears smearing across his flushed face as the pungent scent cloyed the room. John bit his bottom lip and whined when he remembered what that scent was. 

"Slick." John swallowed past the lump in his throat. "You're in heat? Sherlock..."

Sherlock shook his head emphatically, trying to deny the truth, he didn't want to admit what was so evident.

"No. No. No." Sherlock choked shrilly.

Sherlock was in heat. John realized now why his husband hadn't wanted him to come, but it was too late. John had come and in so doing, enacted his own heat. Syncing their heats. That wasn't possible. None of this was possible.

"Oh God." John swallowed wetly.

" _No. No. No._ " 

  



	12. Chapter 12

John's mind was rushing with a disordering amount of thoughts. One thing remained clear through it all, _Sherlock_. 

Sherlock's sobs gave way to furious snarls. The omega took hold of decent sized pieces of broken ceramic on the floor and threw them in John's direction. John could move out the way, but then again, it was better that he didn't, as they were just barely missing him. 

"Out! Get out!" Sherlock demanded, outraged when there was no longer anything for him to throw at the alpha. If the omega rose from where he was seated to grab some from the kitchen cabinets, then yes, but as it was, in Sherlock's current condition, that was highly unlikely.

"I can't." John couldn't leave now, his heat was in full bloom, synced with Sherlock's own. Even if John could physically raise himself up and walk out of the flat, distancing himself from Sherlock, he didn't want to.

"You're..." John shut his eyes, and dully banged his head against the door. His nostrils stung all as he took a deep whiff of his beautiful Sherlock in heat.

Sherlock was ripe in smell. The scent was intoxicating, yes. Beyond that, it was... pure. The scent of an untouched omega was driving his inner wolf mad. All he wanted to do was stain Sherlock with the scent of his essence... embed his seed within.

"You're ready." John knew -- though he'd never scented an in-heat omega before -- his instincts told him Sherlock was at full peak. The omega's body was ready to accept him.

Sherlock's omega might want John, but not the logical part. The omega side was breaking free, but Sherlock's tenacious will hindered its progress. Sherlock wasn't powerful enough to hold it off for long, his sense of logic would fade out. Then the primal need within would force him to take actions he might not have allowed otherwise.

" _Go_." The hopelessness was clear in Sherlock's voice.

"I can't." John was guilt-ridden, because he wasn't strong enough to leave.

The omega was pressed up against the lower cabinets of the kitchen, long legs splayed open, unwilling to close them and create a sweltering friction. Only, by doing so, it enhanced the scent of Sherlock's sex. 

"I... I'm sorry." John met wet silver eyes.

"This isn't your fault." Sherlock's eyes lowered to the mess he'd created, and John knew it wasn't an easy thing for his omega to admit.

John and Sherlock remained voiceless for several long moments. The gravity of what had happened and what was going to happen played in their minds, but both were unable to do anything to stop nature. 

John inhaled a breath of fortitude; he took on the responsibility of this situation, rising on shaky legs. His thighs strumming, cock filled up and hard, the wetness of his pants was unbearable.

Sherlock's noticeably tensed, observing John intently as if he were staring at a predator, and in a way, John was. 

"I love you." John murmured, reminding Sherlock, whether he wanted to be reminded or not, that he truly adored him and would treasure his omega. He spoke his confession with sincerity, kneeling before the omega, and dotingly cupped Sherlock's heated cheek in his hand.

Silver depths broke away from dark blue and focused on the kitchen table. Leaning forward, John nosed along the damp curls of Sherlock's hair and scented the omega with reverence.

" _Mine_." John sighed contentedly, nuzzling the side of his husband's temple. 

John's gut roiled, unsettled, and yet eager. He'd dreamt of this day. Always having longed to find an omega counterpart who would love him and care for him as strongly as he would them. Sherlock might not love him, but John had more than enough love for the both of them.

" _My Sherlock._ " John's love was so thickly laced in his words, in the tenderness of his smile, there could be no doubt that love Sherlock, John did. 

"This... This will just be sex."

"It's you and it's me. This can never be anything but bonding." John's lips dragged further from Sherlock's temple and towards the peak of a cheek bone. Pressing a firm kiss to the jutting bone, John felt the omega shift further back and against the counter.

Sherlock felt something within snap, giving in. There was no way out of this. Since the moment John walked in and scented him, the fight had been over. It only took Sherlock time to realize that. John's own heat was brought on by the scent of his. 

"Just penetrate me and get it over with." Sherlock's words wavered. He was trying to remain strong, clinical in their approach to this area of their marriage. John knew Sherlock well enough to know this wasn't just sex. This was a vulnerability the omega had never shared with another, and in many ways, John felt similarly. Even though John was uneasy with this new development, he wanted it, and he'd be sure Sherlock knew he'd take care of him. 

"I'm going to love every bit of you." John swore, his arms wrapping around Sherlock's waist and without further pause, lifted the omega upright.

"John!" Sherlock startled when the alpha hauled him up and over his broad shoulder, one arm wrapping around the back of Sherlock's thighs, so very close to his ass. Effectively folding the omega over him, and felt Sherlock's hot breath heat his lower back. 

"You're a Neanderthal." Sherlock meant for it to be an insult, but John could make out the hint of amusement, faint as it was.

"You're in no shape to stand. Let alone walk." John smiled, pressing his face against Sherlock's hip and nuzzling him with much love. Shrugging his shoulder against the hardness poking him and the stuttering groan that was his answer sent a pleasing chill through him.

"Like you're any better." Sherlock contemplated as John shakily walked them towards the omega's bedroom. Sherlock bit back a whine and did all he could not to wiggle too much, the feel of his cock pressing against a strong shoulder was near maddening. Sherlock's bedroom was closer and John could hardly walk himself, but he would do this for his omega. There was no way he'd allow them to lose their virginity on the kitchen floor. He and Sherlock were worth more than that.

John's thigh muscles trembled with the effort of moving. Any other time but now John wouldn't struggle so much, but it had to be now. Sherlock was so close, in his arms and his... his... area that needed him the most - that was secreting that intoxicating scent, producing lubricant to help ease the way... God, it was close and John wanted nothing more than to bury his face there, but not now. He needed to take things slow and easy; even when his alpha was raging for it, Sherlock was scared though he'd never admit to it. The omega was frightened by the truth of their situation and their... What was supposed to happen now... John had to go slow. For Sherlock. John needed to remind himself; soft, slow, for Sherlock.

He kneeled at the foot of the bed and set Sherlock gently onto the comforter. Sherlock shuffled away from John the moment he had the chance and scooted towards the center of the bed.

John remained where he kneeled, watching Sherlock. His husband lay frailly on his back, head pressing heavily on the pillow, his arms moving to rest themselves at his sides. Swallowing loudly, catching Sherlock's piercing stare, John stood and proceeded to strip himself of his clothing. 

The moment John's shirt fell to the floor to be clumped with his sweater and revealed his chest, Sherlock's head turned away from the alpha.

"Sherlock." John whispered, attempting to draw the omega's sights from the wall and to him, when he finally stood bare, in his most primal of states.

"I know."

"What?"

"I know what you look like. I spied on you with a hidden camera. Saw footage of you during your heat."

John blinked blankly, having never expected to hear that. Even with the sudden statement, he wasn't upset, nor was he angry with the invasion of privacy. Maybe it was from the scent of his in heat husband that was making it hard to feel anything, but for the want of his love. 

"Then look now." John urged, crawling up onto the bed and closer to the uneasy Sherlock.

Inhaling a breath of courage, John crawled himself up and over Sherlock, straddling the omega's lap, John cradled the man's face in his hands and turned his head to meet him.

Silver met blue, then lowered, caressing the alpha's body with his eyes, sliding the expanse of his chest and lower still. Sherlock knew what he'd find, yet it was different from what he remembered. The cameras couldn't illuminate the trueness of John's... life size... appendage. John was so... Sherlock's entrance... It couldn't... This wasn't... Sherlock couldn't even think about what.... 

His eyes focused on the monstrous cock. Heavy and thick. Flushed and appearing warm to the touch. The bulbous head was a deeper shade of red. The spout glossy and wet with pre-cum. Intricate veins corded the circumference of the extensive length. Sherlock's omega longed for it, needed it in a way his logical part could not accept. 

Sherlock's eyes widened when the massive cock gave a jolt, a fresh glop of pre-cum leaking out. This wasn't going to work. It couldn't possibly fit. Sherlock inwardly flinched away at the thought of their joining. John was going to tear apart his entrance. 

For one moment Sherlock was compliantly still, but in the next he went wild under John. Claws dug against John's forearms, shoving, pushing and struggling to get away, because he couldn't do this. Not when faced with _that!_. 

John pressed himself down hard, weighing his rear against the hardness under him. Unintentional, it might have been, but regardless of his intentions he'd touched Sherlock's sensitive cock and sent the omega trembling with need.

"Sorry."

"I can't do this!" 

"What's wrong?" John cooed sweetly, petting his damp silky hair.

Sherlock shook his head, he needed to get away, and yet he knew there was no way out of this situation. Given enough time his omega would fully take over and then it wouldn't matter what Sherlock's logical sense determined. The omega's need for John would outweigh everything else. 

"It looks different!"

"What looks different?" John was trying to understand, to follow Sherlock's words, but was unable to determine what Sherlock was referring to. 

Sherlock glared at him. "Your penis is..." 

"Oh." John blushed. That. Of course, he should have figured it out when Sherlock's stare hadn't wavered from it. 

"It's monstrous." Sherlock bit his bottom lip, eyes squeezing tight, knowing he was trapped, yet unable to stand the idea of... "I can't."

"You can." John soothed, leaning low, his lips brushing the heated skin of the omega's forehead.

"You can." John insisted again, with complete earnestness.

"No. I'm not... I... You..." Sherlock's hands lay uselessly at his sides, clenching and unclenching around air.

"Shhh." John soothed, running his hands through the omega's wet curls, untangling them with his fingers.

"We'll go slow."

"I... I don't think we can. I'm..." 

Sherlock didn't have to explain himself, John could scent the strength of that yeasty sweetness. Sherlock's pants were most certainly soaked, and, placing a hand between Sherlock's legs, at his rear, eliciting a pitiful whimper, John felt the dampness of cloth. His point was proved when he removed his hand and rubbed his fingers together. 

"You're drenched." John observed bluntly.

"Shut up." Sherlock huffed with embarrassment.

"No, it's good. You'll be able to take me. Your body was made for this and you have more than reached your peak."

Sherlock turned his head away, unthinkingly leaving his neck open and John took the opportunity to his advantage. Dipping low, he mouthed the bond mark that linked him and Sherlock as mates. Sucking up the pale flesh in his mouth, John tasted the salty sweat and hummed contentedly. The clipped moan that was his answer sent his heart hammering against his chest.

Lowering his hands to work on the buttons of Sherlock's dress shirt, John set about revealing more milky flesh.

"Untouched."

"John."

"Pretty." John growled hungrily.

"Shut up." Sherlock swallowed thickly, breath hitching by the confirmation he was attractive to his alpha.

" _Mine_."

Possessiveness, Sherlock never appreciated the idea of a possessive alpha and yet, now being at his most vulnerable, his omega side ebbing its way out, it felt... reassuring. Hearing that he belonged to someone, and that someone being John, Sherlock couldn't deny the warmth that spread. The vibrating pulsing of need that consumed as he realized he _was_ John's. John's husband, mate, omega. 

Sherlock's mind spun dizzyingly as new thoughts took hold with the realization that he was irrevocably John's everything. He was fertile. He was in heat. John would knot him and in so doing... impregnate him. John would breed him.

"Oh, breed..." Sherlock whimpered, eyes shutting tight, lips parting in a wet exhale, a painful emptiness wracked through him, as if reminding him of what his body needed and he knew.

"Sherlock?" John voice was filled with care that undid something within, and suddenly Sherlock didn't care that this was wrong. Everything he ever needed, all the repressed wants of his omega were being answered by the presence and care of his one and only mate, his John.

"Please..." Sherlock found the words falling off his lips before they even registered, his omega was present, ready and needing. No more inhibition, everything was coming out, no thoughts to be stifled by logic. No desires to be hindered and forced away. Sherlock, the genius, was no more. What lay beneath John now was the omega Sherlock. 

"Sherlock." John sighed warmly, pressing an affectionate kiss to the omega's brow.

"Breed."

"Yes, love."

_John was going to infuse, saturate, soak, steep, drench Sherlock's virginal entrance with his seed. Stuff him full and knot him each and every emission brought on through breeding to further ensure that his seed held._

Sherlock's claws dug deep into the mattress and constricted, pulling fistfuls of the sheets in his palm, and held fast. Slick poured out of him so heavily both of his sexes were drenched in it.

Sherlock's tender skin rippled with the soft delicate brush of John's chest hair gliding against his own chest... The omega was helpless to stop himself from rising up and unabashedly nuzzling the alpha's clavicle. Scenting his husband's musk, it overpowered the normally sweet scent. The heavy scent of pre-come drove Sherlock's omega wild. John's hands moved over Sherlock's shoulders, slipping the shirt further away. Moving awkwardly, Sherlock twisted his arms and John tugged hard, removing the sleeves from his arms, and tossed it over the bed.

John's hands wasted no time when he took hold of Sherlock's belt. Only did those confident hands halt their progression when Sherlock's gripped his wrists. John pulled back enough so to meet Sherlock's stare and soon noticed the open shame that blossomed upon his omega's features. 

"I... I'm not..."

"Sherlock?" John waited.

"I..." Sherlock inhaled a large breath and exhaled the reason for his hesitation, "I'm not like you."

"Not like me?"

"Size." Sherlock's flushed cheeks grew deeper in their shade.

John smiled kindly.

"I love you. Every bit of you. You are perfect."

Sherlock wanted John. There was no denying this truth. His heat was only maximizing the need, but it was always there. At least now, in heat, he could acknowledged this freely. Sherlock wasn't trying to stop the progression of what he knew would come. He _didn't_ want to stop it. Still, he worried, worried he'd displease his alpha in the way his body was so not like other omegas'. This was one thing both his omega and logical senses agreed on: Sherlock was lacking what other omega's easily had, but John - good, wonderful John - loved him. 

He might not believe the validity of John's professions of love, but the actions John took could not dispute those same proclamations. So John thought Sherlock gorgeous. He thought him perfect. And looking into John's sincere, love-filled eyes, Sherlock could find no falsehood. 

Sherlock's vice-like grip gradually loosened, allowing the alpha to continue, growing limp-like in his arms. Face turning away to stare at the wall, because he knew John didn't understand. True, omega's were known to be smaller than alphas and betas, but Sherlock wasn't even the average length of a typical omega. 

Sucking in a sharp breath as John tugged his pants and slacks down and off. Leaving him only in black dressing socks. Sherlock braced himself for John's scrutiny. 

John rumbled contentedly, raising one of Sherlock's legs and slipped off one sock, before doing the same with the other, and still, he didn't stop. His hands smoothed over the skin of his bent knees and spread them wide. 

Sherlock whimpered, his lower sex, producing slick, was open to the elements, the cool air of the room sending tantalizing chills to his enflamed red hole.

"Pretty, Sherlock... So very pretty."

Sherlock couldn't help himself, he had to look, and when he did, he wasn't sure how to respond. John was kneeling between his spread legs, hands stroking his knees, his eyes fixed on his two sexes. His hard, stout cock lay straight and flushed red. The head of his small cock glistening in the light of the room, creamy pre-come dribbling from the spout and streaking his lower abdomen. Sherlock felt himself grow self-conscious the longer John stared at his sexes and covered one of the two, knowing as an alpha, only one would be most desired. 

"Is this better?" Sherlock asked, covering his cock in one hand, and staring worriedly at John.

"No. I... Please." John reached out and removed the hand covering the other sex. "I love you. Each part of you. So beautiful. _Perfect_ "

"I..." Sherlock was unsure what to say. John always surprised him. His eyes fluttered closed the moment John's hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing it on an upward stroke, sending his body vibrating with the pulsing pleasurable trills that overtook him.

"Sl-Slow." Sherlock panted, throwing his head back onto the pillow, fisting at the sheets, knees parting wider, hips rising to meet the alpha's strokes.

"Mm, John." Sherlock hummed, head swarming with thoughts that this was wrong, unacceptable, that he should be resisting more. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to fight off this feeling. Not now. It was too late. 

Later... Later when his wit returned, that was when he'd fully comprehend all and what it meant. Not now. All he could think of now was John.

_John. John. John. John. John. John._

John watched with fascination as the omega squirmed beneath him, panting harshly past those pale pink lips, un-kissed, untouched. John had yet to gain the courage to kiss Sherlock. This was instinct and nature. Was kissing part of that? If it were, would Sherlock allow him that personal expression? John's free hand lowered and neared the entrance between Sherlock's small sack and his asshole. His entrance was wet, flushed, the hole barely the size of a nickel, so small and he could finally understand why Sherlock attempted to run when baring sight of his alpha cock. 

Pressing the pad of his thumb against the opening of Sherlock's entrance, he gently rubbed the silk-like flesh. It was soft, pliable, almost plush. The slit slightly dipped and opened by the gentle, and so careful press of John's thumb. The rim of Sherlock's opening wavered, muscles contracted around his thumb, attempting to hold fast and swallow his thumb wholly. The resistance was slight by the tender press of his thumb, but he knew--no matter that Sherlock was at the peak of his heat and his body was undoubtedly ready for him--no amount of preparation would ease the breach of his cock. 

John's features turned sour at the realization that Sherlock would feel the pain of first penetration.

Sherlock had turned to make eye contact with John when the alpha's movements stuttered to not and at first sight, he knew.

"I'm ready." Sherlock encouraged, though he knew it wouldn't be nearly enough.

"Sherlock."

"I've produced enough slick and... my body will adjust."

"I could-"

"No. You can't, it's too sensitive and no amount of prep will help when you are so... Please John. I can't... I can't take the waiting anymore."

John met Sherlock's eyes and knew he couldn't listen to his omega's demands this time. He'd be unable to enter Sherlock without at least _trying_ to ease the way for his cock. It would hurt regardless of his attempts, but if he prepped Sherlock enough, the pain would be far less so than without it. 

Pressing his thumb further in Sherlock's heat, John felt the muscles contract around him, swallowing him eagerly, even when Sherlock made a noise of protest.

"I said-" Sherlock began, but John cut him off.

"We do this my way, or not at all." John raised a challenging brow and Sherlock glared at the stubbornness of his mate.

Those beautiful pale lips in a heavy pout as John swirled his thumb, entering up to the knuckle. Sherlock's pout was soon replaced by a noiseless exhale, mouth parting, eyes widening with the sensation. A spark of pleasure building. John removed his thumb and reinterred with his index finger, in and out he went, scanning Sherlock for any sign of pain, and found none. Slowly, John added his middle finger, and scissored them. 

Sherlock exhaled a shaky breath, hips rocking ever so gently following those fingers within. John added his ring finger when Sherlock actively participated in the prepping of his entrance. He watched in awe as Sherlock moaned lewdly when John slipped in his pinky and pushed in deep. John spreaded his fingers, stretching the rim, and dragging them along the muscled wall and John struck gold. Sherlock releasing a cry of ecstasy was his answer.

" _There_. Right there, John!" Sherlock choked out, hands snapping out and gripping insistently to the wrist of the very hand stroking that hard knob within. 

"Here?" John asked for certainty and tapped against the bump he felt.

Sherlock didn't answer so much in words, but when his claws dug into the flesh of his wrist and he flailed under him, John knew for certain. John pushed hard against it, mercilessly grinding the pads of his fingers on it, then repeatedly pounding into it.

" _John!_ " Sherlock's claws drew blood, his pelvis grinding against his hand, thighs trembling, all while an obscene amount of pre-come spouted from the head of his cock, and slick squirted from his hole.

" _Fuck me, now. Now, John. I-- Fucking fuck me!_ " Sherlock's vulgarity was more than a turn on for John, but he was done in by the lustful silver eyes that devoured his soul. 

John shivered by the sight of it and immediately removed his hand to lean himself heavily over his husband. Sherlock opened his trembling legs further apart, allowing his knees to fall wide, his hands releasing John's wrist so that he could wrap his arms around the alpha's broad shoulders and press their chests against each other.

The thickness of John's chest hair blanketed Sherlock's own and when they moved Sherlock felt the brush of it, it tickled and yet felt strongly arousing. It was confusing, and at the same time ever so lovely. Removing one arm from off of John's shoulder, Sherlock fondly stroked the dark blond, almost brown chest hair.

"I want this." Sherlock needed to say it. He needed to reassure the alpha that he wasn't forcing himself on the omega. "I didn't want my heat, but... _I want this_."

"I... Sherlock." John didn't know how to respond to that, so instead, he palmed the hand stroking his chest hair and brought it up to his lips where he pressed a tender kiss to the ring finger carrying their wedding band. 

"Do it." Sherlock requested softly and John nervously nodded his head in affirmation of the knowledge that this was the moment. This was the moment that they would be finally consummating their marriage.

Lowering his pelvis, John's engorged cock weighed itself heavily against Sherlock's, small in contrast, cock. Sherlock's eyes shut, lips parting in a voiceless cry as John ground down, the hard rigidness of his girth compressed around the length of his own. 

A wavering moan passed breathlessly from Sherlock, his body quivered, the weight of John's cock felt unbelievably good. John moved with purpose, slow, hard grinding. Sherlock whimpered with the want of it and yet it wasn't enough. Nothing had yet to fill him in the way he wanted. 

Sherlock's hands found their way to John's hair, fingers gliding through the light blond locks, and fisted it with urgency. Tightly. Too tight. John groaned, part pain, part contentment. To be touched by Sherlock, in any way... He needed it. So touch-starved and alone, but not now. Not with Sherlock.

"I love you." John rasped, burying his head against the crook of Sherlock's neck. One hand moved to palm Sherlock's hip, his other shifting blindly further down and between their bodies.

Caressing the inner part of Sherlock's thigh, John felt his way to the root of his most desired upon location.

" _John_ " Sherlock mewled, the roughness of John's thumb stroking the outer layer of his entrance, much in the same way he'd done before.

Hesitantly, John placed pressure on his thumb and felt it dip within. Only centimeters within, and yet he could feel the molten heat. Sherlock squirmed under him, a pitiful whimper answer enough that the omega wanted more.

"Please." Sherlock vocalized what John could clearly see. "Please, John. I... Please?" 

John shushed Sherlock's insistent pleas, knowing they'd waited enough and removed his hand. Gripping the base of his cock, John lifted his hips just slightly, enough so to guide his cock's head to Sherlock's entrance.

The copious amount of pre-come at his head gently rubbed at the folds and coated Sherlock's hole in his essence, and without further thought, John plunged his monstrous alpha cock within.

The tormented cry that burst forth from Sherlock pained John, who did not stop, only continued to push further inside, until he was at last fully within, up to the hilt. Claws dug painfully into his scalp, all while Sherlock tugged John closer still against the warmth of his neck. Wounded whimpers filling the otherwise silent room.

John did not move, not even an inch - he would not risk causing the omega any more pain, but _Lord help him_. The heated wetness, the spasming muscles, the scent of blood, it was driving him mad with want. 

His beautiful pure omega... Sherlock was his alone. John hated the possessiveness that many alphas expressed, but this, knowing that Sherlock was his only and that he was Sherlock's in return... It was heartening. John would forever cherish his beautiful husband. 

"Sherlock." John mouthed along the milky flesh before him, peppering it with wet kisses, and marveling as the spots of red blossomed in it's wake.

Sherlock shook in his arms. He could feel the trembling vibrations even through the muscles that encircled his cock. And he knew, could feel it, as his excitement prompted the spout of his head to drizzle more of his essence. Tainting the inner core of Sherlock's womb with his love. 

"Doing so well." John cooed, hands sliding over narrow hips, stroking and calming the trembling he felt. 

"J-John." Sherlock's voice broke on itself, pain thickly laced in his tone, his lips brushing against his temple as he turned to the alpha and audibly inhaled his pheromones. 

"My hole. My womb. My omega. _Mine_." John's alpha moaned when Sherlock shifted just slightly, enough so that long lean legs could wrap around his hips, and he tenderly moved to kiss the underside of Sherlock's chin, a submissive action and yet so full of a protective alpha instinct. Kissing more fervently as the omega's nails drew blood from his scalp. At the same time, John's cock moved minutely within the no longer virginal opening. God, it was satisfying to know Sherlock was no longer a virgin, that he didn't have to smell the purity of his mate, and be reminded that he hadn't taken what was his. Sherlock was his, now and forever, just his.

"Yours." Sherlock claws retracted and apologetically stroked John's tender scalp. 

Soft undulations of his hips rocked Sherlock forward. Inside the sweltering heat, plush and wet, dampening his cock. His bollocks slicking up with lubrication each time John pushed forwards and against wet thighs. 

John's mouth watered with the he scent of Sherlock's yeasty sweetness. He could practically taste him. It was so much and they hadn't even gotten that far. Biting the inside of his cheek, John focused on anything but the feel of it. He needed to last, long enough to give Sherlock as much pleasure. 

John's hands lowered and clutched to the globes of Sherlock's buttocks, fingers seeped into the cleft, dampening in the remains of slick that was there. His poor Sherlock had been suffering alone, producing so much slick in preparation, and yet he'd been unable to seek the attention John would and was eagerly giving. He'd give more than his attention and care, he'd give all of himself for his Sherlock.

Spreading Sherlock open with great care, John took measured movements and guided his throbbing arousal in and out. Slow and hard. Consistent, powerful, forceful, but still tenderly. Torturous. It was all so much. John's bollocks tingled with the want, drawing up, his monstrous cock throbbing within, and he knew Sherlock felt it. He had to by the way he squirmed under him. White teeth revealing themselves as they bit down onto a petal-soft lip, and that whimper, that beautiful soft chirp of need from his omega made him tremble with the effort of not losing himself then and there.

 _Fuck!_ It was hard. So hard. All John felt was close to oblivion. John felt Sherlock's muscular walls close around his mass in a vice-like grip and... _God, help him_ , he couldn't hold back the alpha within. Sherlock was his gentle omega that wanted his independence. He didn't want a possessive alpha brute, and John wasn't, but he feared his instincts pushing Sherlock away. Knowing all this, John couldn't stop himself and let out a primal snarl as he pressed forward and with one harsh thrust, shoved himself roughly within.

“My pretty, pretty, Sherlock. Going to stuff you full.” John growled feral-like. As he took his mate, he took possession of Sherlock's claim mark, biting into it, though there was no need, but for the need of his alpha seeking to reaffirm Sherlock was truly his. 

Sherlock grated a broken whine of distress as John drove forward still, passed the omega's resistance. John grunted a huff of air, licking away the blossoming trail of blood, and nuzzled the blemishes. 

“John." Sherlock sneered his name much like a frustrated curse. Yet he contradicted his tone when wrapping his arms tight about John's shoulders and held him close. His claws dug through his flesh in a needful attempt to take John's unforgiving, steadfast thrusts. Puffing out heavy breaths, Sherlock took in the fullness of John's cock, stretching, and stinging his entrance into submission. 

Sherlock's body shook, consumed by lewd, wanton pleasure, accumulating, filling him and sending his body jolting with ecstasy of a once unimaginable and unsought elation. John's thrust grew less rhythmic and more sporadic as the gratification built, the force of his thrusts was unchecked and made Sherlock keen, enraptured. Each steep shove sparked the start of cumulation, that bulbous round head stabbing a place within that turned Sherlock into a mewling omega, helpless and pitiful. 

John forced Sherlock higher up on the bed, thighs rubbing against each other, hands scrambling to hold onto something, keep him solidified as they inched further up the bed, until Sherlock's head struck the solidness of the headboard. John draped himself over Sherlock, heavy and consuming, his body wrapping around Sherlock much like a protective cocoon. A warm hand palmed Sherlock's head, gripping to damp locks all while it protected Sherlock from the brunt of John's thrusts.

"Please." Sherlock was begging for it and he didn't care. Nothing mattered, nothing else but them, their bodies tangled up in the sheets, the dampness of his skin clinging to the sheets, all while he himself clung to John, in need of everything his alpha could provide and would. _Provide? Oh, God. Provide! Pups. Yes, God, yes, John's pups!_ Sherlock sobbed, lungs burning with the effort to catch his breath as his mind swam with images of his belly growing, of his weight gaining with the healthy pups he'd carry for his alpha. 

"Breed." Sherlock moaned, turning and dipping his nose against the alpha's temple, scenting musk, and thrilling with the knowledge he would be packed full of his John's seed.

"Give it to me." Sherlock was all at once seizing blond strands and forcing John to look at him. 

Sherlock's silver eyes spoke of a complete debilitating desire. 

"Give it all to me." Sherlock's breath ghosted over John's lips, his eyes soft, open, and something twisted within John, and suddenly Sherlock's muscles clamped around John's cock, holding tight, seeming to want to milk him.

“ _Sherlock_." John groaned lewdly, jerking forward, battling against Sherlock’s firmly taunt muscles to move, and answer Sherlock's wants, because they were his own.

The pain, it lingered, the burning sensation of being stretched to house such greatness was slowly lessening - the pleasure played an important part in that. The pleasure was slowly outweighing the pain of being claimed. Sherlock couldn’t deny the greatness that came with the never before felt phenomenal sexual awakening. It surpassed the experience of pleasuring himself. He truly found it difficult to understand his previous hesitation to copulate. It was most certainly better than he'd ever thought it could be with each second that passed and the building of goodness that consumed him, it became harder and harder to ever want it to end. 

"Fuck!" John whimpered, dipping his head against the crook of Sherlock's neck, the one place he felt at home in, burying his nose in the sweetness of his mate. His thrusts sped, becoming quick snaps of the hips. Faster, faster, and faster they went, pounding, zapping lightening-like pulses to Sherlock's most sensitive nerves. 

Sherlock bulked against him, a pure animal-like cry dispelling from bit-bruised lips as Sherlock's mind began shutting off. Hallways darkened, lights blowing out, sending rooms to fall to the darkness, leaving little room to house all the thoughts building, attempting to understand this rise of feelings that were taking over him. 

" _Oh!_ " Sherlock praised, shoving his hips down to meet his John's thrusts.

John didn't hold back, not anymore, he couldn't as he pummeled Sherlock's wet, red entrance. Sherlock was unable to do much anymore, his thrusts grew weak as he drew inwards on himself, gurgling hoarse nonsense, more open vowel whimpers and whines, destroyed by the power and momentum of John's consuming throbbing cock. 

Sherlock withered; head jerking to the side where his teeth bared into the side of the pillow under him, forced and all the same needing to lay back, open and pliant to John bucking wildly into him. In, _in_ , he went, pushing the air out of Sherlock's lungs, causing his muscles to tremble with the pulses of desire and bliss that filled him in all the right ways he needed to be filled. 

Sherlock was so close now; he could feel his stomach coil in the want of it, the starting of release, and a throaty noise deep in his chest was released. John's hand took hold of his stout cock and gave it hard, quick jerks, his thumb rubbing urgently at the underside after every upward stroke.

“ _Ooh!_ ” Sherlock gave out a triumphant sob, thrusting up into John's callused warm hand. And with little else of a warning, Sherlock spurted hot white come, globs shooting out all over John's hand, and coating the dark hair of John's chest with Sherlock's semen. 

Sherlock hissed, squirming restlessly in the aftershocks of his climax, John's hips remaining solid pistons, pumping into Sherlock and electrifying his pleasure point to pain. It was discomforting and highly unwanted, but Sherlock endured it because they weren't finished, he needed John to come. He needed to be filled and so he spread his legs open farther apart. 

Resting his head heavily upon his pillow and exposing himself more, Sherlock let himself be used, let John take him and fixed his eyes on his alpha. A warmth filling him, nothing like an after glow - more of a heartening sensation when Sherlock found the love that reflected from John's eyes. 

John lowered himself, pressing his chest against Sherlock's, one hand gripping Sherlock's hair, the other cupping his face, and he stared. Stared at Sherlock with all the love he possessed for it was a surprising amount of love, more so than Sherlock had seen in any couple he'd ever met. It was reassuring and inspiring. 

"Give me pups." Sherlock cooed sweetly, hands moving to stroke John's muscular back, feeling the slick glide of sweat. 

John's brows furrowed in pain, a deep groan was his answer as John plowed his taunt entrance. The base of his cock swelling, growing wider, as it battered past the resistant rim of Sherlock's entrance. Raising his head and tilting it to the side, John's eyes caressed Sherlock's face with pure adoration.

" _Sherlock._ " John closed his eyes for a brief moment, he bit into his bottom lip and before Sherlock could understand, John shoved inside him one last time, pushing himself deep, the swelling of his knot popping past the strained rim, and John stilled his hips, coming undone. The powerful rush of emission coating his most private of areas. Rushing still, powerful in its gushing, Sherlock could feel each pulse, each slide of come pack him. Filling him until he was compact with it, and then _more_ followed. John shuddered, gritting his teeth, striving to hold back, yet was incapable, and roared out the primal call of an alpha as his orgasm vibrated throughout his body.

  



	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, his skin was on fire, mind swirling with a dizzying amount of thoughts. The most important of them all was, _John_. Rolling off his back and staring at the slumbering alpha at his side, his body pulsed with an unearthly need. He needed more of last night's frenzied mating. He'd attained as much sleep as he needed and now he'd take what he wanted.

He was wet everywhere. His thighs slipped against each other, skin damp. His cock was hard, the slit open and dripping with pre-come. Sherlock's entrance, hot and feeling empty, wanted to be filled. John's cock was fat and long, it filled Sherlock perfectly and made him feel so complete. Sherlock needed John.

Nudging John's shoulder, he watched the alpha grumble a disjointed sling of incoherent words, before dark blue eyes stared up at him with momentary confusion. The disorientation soon wore off and hunger filled those same eyes.

"More." Sherlock husked, and without thought shoved the alpha onto his back and quickly moved to straddle those thick muscular thighs.

Sherlock's head bowed, his hips pressing back and earnestly rubbed against the hardness beneath him. The alpha was always hard, never did he flag, ready to take him and breed him whenever the omega's need proved ravenous, and Sherlock was most certainly ravenous for John's alpha cock.

Placing his hands upon John's chest, fingers carding through the thickness of hair that was there, Sherlock hummed with pleasure and rocked against John's girth, perfectly rubbing along his balls and the underside of his cock.

"Feel so good."

"Sherlock." John's sleep-laced voice was by far the sexiest thing he ever heard, and the way John looked at him...

John lay open, pliant to Sherlock's will, eyes half lidded and staring with warmth at him. Rough callused hands slid up over his thighs and to his hips, groping the narrowness of them, and then smoothing over them. The milky skin blemished and blotched by his rough touch. Sherlock wanted more of them. More blemishes to his skin from the bruising caress of his mate.

" _Oh_." Sherlock gasped, shutting his eyes and enjoying the feel when one of John's hands floated around and under his bollocks to rub a fat thumb over the wetness of his entrance.

"Don't." Sherlock whined, shivering when that same thumb slipped in further, circling the bead within, a persistent hard circle. Round and round it went, pressing against and rubbing it, before proceeding with that same torturous process. 

Over and over again. Sherlock's breathing quickening, following the rush of his heart, and parting his lips, he keened with gratification.

"Don't what?" John deviously asked and Sherlock's eyes flashed open to glare down at him.

Sherlock's anger faded when that thumb, the evil, glorious thumb dug in deep and Sherlock belted a noise, something between a yelp, and an elating moan. Heat rose to Sherlock's cheeks as John's thumb swirled within him and he was helpless, all he could do was bare down on that fat thumb and ride it, chasing that wonderful, toe curling feeling. 

Rocking and grinding down against John's fat thumb, feeling the hardness of his alpha's cock. The bulbous head of John's cock drizzled pre-come, wetting his stout cock in it and then--

"Oh!" Sherlock hollered, throwing his head back to stare wide eyed at the ceiling when John's free hand gripped his cock and began stroking him quick and hard. A moment later, Sherlock screamed, cock splashing John's chest with his milk, his entrance squirting clear warm slick and wetting John's cock with it.

The alpha groaned pitifully, still painfully hard and having to witness his omega's climax, feel the flexing of his muscles around his thumb, and being unable to feel those same muscles contract against his alpha cock.

" _Sherlock, so beautiful._ " John choked past a groan of want, raising his hips and rubbing himself against Sherlock's bollocks, sending the omega to tremble with the aftershocks of a good orgasm.

There was the painful over sensitized post-orgasm feeling, but Sherlock still wanted more. He needed his alpha. John was so stiff with the want of him and was swelling with the copious amount of seed that would pulverize his eggs with viable sperm. There were multiple eggs within him and Sherlock didn't want to stop until John had fertilized every last one of the eggs he'd produced this heat cycle.

" _Mm_. Bugger me up, John. Want your sperm, cock fuck me good. Breed me till I'm spilling your spunk." Sherlock whimpered like the bitch in heat he was. John shuddered under him. The vulgarity of Sherlock's words... _God_ it was such a turn on. 

Sherlock rolled his pelvis up, lifting himself up slightly, enough so that John's trembling hands worked quickly at getting a hold of himself and guiding the head of his cock to the sopping wet hole of Sherlock's flushed entrance.

"Take it. God, take it, Sherlock. It's always been yours." John breathlessly spoke; watching as Sherlock slowly sat himself down on his cock, taking him inch by wonderful inch. 

Sherlock moaned happily, the stretch of his entrance made him feel blessedly full, tightly wrapped around the thickness of that monstrous cock. He felt positively stuffed, he could almost taste that beautiful cock.

"Want all your pups." Sherlock smiled down at John, gifting the alpha with the rarity of such an open and tender expression. John would not take it for granted.

"Yeah?" John felt momentarily embarrassed by the way the insecurity of his inquiry trembled, but then the omega leaned down and slid his hands up from his chest to cup his face tenderly.

" _Mhmm_." Sherlock confirmed and his lips moved towards his own.

The small voice, even now in the throws of heat cycle, warned him this wasn't right. It wasn't true and John tilted his head just so that Sherlock's lips connected to his jawline. It didn't seem to bother Sherlock, or maybe his mind was too focused on mating that he couldn't comprehend what the avoidance of kissing John exhibited meant.

Sherlock kissed John's jawline wetly, his hands moving to splay over John's chest as they had done before, his back arching with the slow undulations his pelvis made. Gently rocking up and down. Sherlock's muscles contracting with every downward thrust and John could hardly contain himself, the bliss growing with each move of those hips, becoming unbearable. 

The coarseness of John's pubic hair brushing and tickling his sensitive skin at every downward motion of his hip. His fingers smoothed over the alpha's chest hair, fondly petting it, never breaking eye contact with a flushed faced John. It felt good. Really good. 

He was lost in pleasure--that corded veiny cock stuffing him full beyond his limit, sealing them together, the roundness of a gradually swelling knot nudging gently at the rim of his entrance. Sherlock could feel everything, each slide of John's foreskin, the bulbous head sprinkling short spurts of pre-come, steadily pervading him.

_So much better than a riding crop_. 

"What's... What's so funny?" John huffed, holding off a tormented groan, Sherlock's pace was far too slow and soft for his taste. He really needed to come already.

Sherlock graced John with a faint smile, his own face feeling warm and matching the shade of John's. 

"Nothing." 

John gave Sherlock a curious look, knowing that couldn't be, but he let it go. That wasn't important right now. Gripping tightly to Sherlock's hips, John yanked him hard on a downward thrust. Sherlock inhaled sharply and gripped to the fine hairs of the alpha's chest, painful yet enthralling.

"John."

"Please, move, move faster. I'm about to burst." 

Sherlock took that as a well-deserved complement, his eyes turning murky with want, John looked so helpless under him. John's hips shifted uncomfortably under him, shifting turning into needing upwards thrusts. 

Sherlock's thighs strained, holding himself upright, just enough so John could work himself in him, taking on all the work. John's needing, insisting thrusts turned into rabid powerful thrusts up, surpassing the space in which Sherlock gave and shoved the omega up higher. Striking that tender place within that made Sherlock into a pile of mush. John bounced up, throwing Sherlock forwards and the omega lost his balance, falling over John's chest.

" _Fuck_. I won't last." Was all John grunted, before rough hands gripped the globes of his ass, feet lay themselves flat on the bed, and John's powerful hips punched up, bucking Sherlock's lower half higher and higher, while his upper half lay heavily over John.

Sherlock's legs trembled; his cock gave painful jolts all as John's set to destroying him. The bead within jabbed hard, fast, and repeatedly was Sherlock's undoing.

"Oh, John. Oh!" Sherlock ass bounced, his entrance squeezing around the pulsating cock within him, his stout cock leaking obscene amount of pre-ejaculate.

"Going, going to come Sherlock, fuck! Sorry, I can't!" John whimpered, ducking his head in the juncture of Sherlock's neck and let out a dark groan that sent shivers down Sherlock's spine.

One of John's hands scrambled for Sherlock's cock and gave it three strokes and Sherlock let out a sob. John's knot slamming past Sherlock's rim, sealing them together. The rush of semen stuffing Sherlock past the brink and feeling nearly unbearable. Squirming and shivering in John's arms, Sherlock came with the feel of a rough thumb scrubbing the wetness of the head of his cock.

Sherlock kissed the underside of John's neck, scenting the beautiful musk of his husband and mate. Milky white spunk spraying their stomachs wet, staining them in his essence all the while John stained Sherlock's womb with his seed, sperm fertilizing more of his eggs.

That beautiful sperm was his. This wonderful alpha was his. _John_ was his.

Pulling away enough so to meet those dark sparking blue eyes, John smiled and Sherlock palmed a heated jaw, pressed his forehead against John's, and sighed contentedly. Nuzzling the alpha's nose with his own, Sherlock reached down with his free hand and felt for their joining, his outer rim was stretched to hold the knot of his alpha, but feeling the stretch of his rim he could feel the knot within give sporadic pulses, filling him further.

"Sherlock?" John's tone was full of care, worried the omega might be in pain and his own hand joined Sherlock's and felt for any sign he'd hurt his mate.

"Mine."

"What?"

"Mine." Sherlock met the soft concern of John's gaze and repeated himself.

"My alpha cock. My sperm. My alpha. _Mine _." Sherlock vocally took possession of his alpha and raised a brow in challenge.__

__John didn't protest. His smile however grew wider and more brilliant than Sherlock ever thought achievable, and much in the same way Sherlock had acknowledged to being his alpha's, John did acknowledged he was Sherlock's._ _

__"Yours." John assured and surged up to place his lips to the corner of Sherlock's own._ _

__Sherlock's eyes widened with surprise, being that was the closest they'd come to kissing. Before he could decide if he liked it or not, John was wrapping his arms around his shoulders and bringing him into a possessive warm hug._ _

__"My pretty, pretty, pretty omega."_ _

__Sherlock became distracted with the compliment and enjoyed the affection of John's kisses to his bond mark._ _

__Thinking was too much right now. Right now all Sherlock wanted was to be filled repeatedly and thoroughly bred. His eggs needed to be fertilized and he needed to bare his alpha a sufficient amount of pups._ _

__

____

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock felt wonderfully warm. Shifting closer and squeezing his pillow, he sighed contentedly, the soft chirping of birds further alerting him that it was early morning. He couldn't remember going to bed, but in the fog of sleep that didn't really matter.

Shifting rocked the bed and it took Sherlock a beat to realize he hadn't moved this time. That couldn't be right... Sherlock's senses developed further as his awareness of his surroundings strengthened. 

The stale scent of heat jogged his memory that he'd started his cycle soon after John left to meet with that ridiculous omega. Then... What happened?

There was a bitterness to the staleness of his heat, a musk that didn't match the softness of his own musk. No, this musk he recognized well.

"John's?" Sherlock vocalized with a curious note.

Sherlock hadn't expected his pillow to vibrate against his chest; a curious hum. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and found a mess of blonde hair inches from his face. Tensing against his pillow that wasn't a pillow, but rather the very John he'd been thinking of, Sherlock found himself laying in his bed, spooning a very naked John. Sherlock lowered his eyes and realized he wasn't any better, and there was no sheets around them to hide the truth of that matter.

_Oh._

All at once the memories of the past three days assaulted his mind and he was left reeling. Unable to move, though his logical sense had returned and screamed for him to let the slumbering alpha go and run, he didn't.

They'd... copulated. Repeatedly, a surprising amount of times for only three days. Sherlock could remember each time, each thing they said. His entrance was sore. Sherlock could feel it now, a dull pulsing that was another reminder that he and John...

Oh and the things he'd said, they were so... sentimental, embarrassing, and horrifying. 

_Pups_. They'd spoken about children. Oh God, Sherlock was fertile and John was more than potent. There wasn't even a question to whether or not Sherlock was pregnant, no, he was assuredly pregnant. No, the only question was to how many pups he'd have in his first litter.

John must have scented the sourness of his anxiety because he shifted, pressing solidly against Sherlock's chest and ran his hands over the pale arms still wrapped around his waist before the alpha's eyes opened and he rolled in Sherlock's arms to face him.

Dark blue scanned his features. Sherlock watched the once relaxed features of John's turn serious.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock said nothing. His tongue was immovable. He could only swallow audibly and exhale a trembling breath.

"Sherlock?" John's hand rose then and palmed his cheek as if they were lovers and that wasn't what Sherlock thought them to be. No. Most assuredly not lovers.

"Say something, please, Sherlock." John's eyes looked pained and for whatever reason that didn't sit well with Sherlock.

Sherlock tried speaking. Opening his mouth in the starting of speech, but nothing came out. John sat up before reaching out for the immovable omega, and helped Sherlock sit upright. 

"You're in shock. You... You didn't want what happened, did you? _Christ._ "

Sherlock hadn't wanted _that_ , no... He never wanted to have a heat again, but then it came and... How did that happen?

"I'm sorry." John remorsefully whispered.

_He'd been on suppressants since he had his first heat. He took his pills religiously, every morning at the same time. Never did he forget. He shouldn't have gone into heat._

"I thought... It doesn't matter what I thought. God, Sherlock I... I'm sorry. I should have listened to your text, but I didn't understand and I, it was too late when I entered and scented you. I... you... There was no way out of this, but I... I'm so sorry."

_Mycroft. It had to be Mycroft. That..._

Sherlock snarled angrily, suddenly fueled with rage, the omega leapt out of the bed and hurriedly entered his closet and looked for something to wear.

"I'm so sorry. Sherlock." John's voice trembled, fearfully watching the omega change his clothes, worried he'd fucked everything up for them. That because of him he'd lose the man he loved.

"I'm not angry with you." Sherlock announced, slipping on a pair of pants, realizing he smelled of sex and stale heat, but that didn't matter right now. He was going to kill Mycroft. A shower was not important, as it did nothing to progress the reality that he would strangle that pompous prick to death.

"Then why?"

"Think John! Why would I suddenly go into heat when I'm on suppressants? Why would _you_ go into heat when you are on suppressants?"

John wasn't following, too worried that he'd fucked up, and now thinking about the effects these three days would have on their lives.

"I don't know."

"Mycroft! That bloody weasel did something to our suppressants, switched it with something, all so that what's happened could happen." Sherlock rushed to explain and finished buttoning up his dress shirt.

"So you're going to go yell at him?"

"Of course I'm going to yell at him. When I'm finished with him, it's going to be a lot more than just yelling!" Sherlock shouted, unable to see why John wasn't as angry.

John watched Sherlock finish readying himself warily.

"Sherlock, please wait." John was unsure the omega would listen to him, so driven to destroy his brother.

"What?" Sherlock shrugged on his coat and stood at the doorway to the room.

"We should talk about what happened. About the fact you're... That you are now.... That we are...." John's eyes lowered to the omega's stomach, lean and narrow in his suit, but would undoubtedly stretch in a few months.

Sherlock's hand moved on its own, and timidly touched his taunt stomach. John was right, they should talk about this, but Sherlock wasn't ready for that. Shaking his head, he dropped his hand, he couldn't think about that right now. Still, he couldn't have John thinking he'd raped him.

"I meant what I said. I didn't want my heat, but I wanted what happened. You are right John, we couldn't have fought it, and you... treated me well. As far as... We will talk about it later. Right now, I need to see Mycroft and smother him to death with the cakes he's so fond of." 

"Sherlock." John tried once more, but the omega was out of the room and soon after, John heard the front door of their flat open and shut behind the rage driven omega. 

"Fuck." John cursed, fisting his hair, standing within Sherlock's bedroom naked and lost.

  



	14. Chapter 14

Mycroft, the pompous ass, sat behind his desk. Leaning forward, the government official clasped his hands on top of the polished wood and flashed a look of disapproval to a livid Sherlock. The consultant was forcibly restrained in the chair across from him. Two agents gripped his shoulders and lower arms, keeping their hold tight. Their focus was clearly on Sherlock, they would not allow him to lunge at the gentleman as he'd attempted to do moments earlier.

"Now really Sherlock, saying that you'll kill me is a bit... dramatic. Don't you think?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Not if it's a statement of fact."

Mycroft pursed his lips all while Sherlock inhaled a deep breath, muscles tensing, fists clenching and unclenching over the armrests of his chair. He wished so intensely that his hands could wrap themselves around the government official's neck and he could watch the life drain from his face.

"Switching both of your suppressants with vitamins was something that needed to be done to ensure the betterment of your relationship."

"You admit it then?"

"Isn't that what I just did? Really, unneeded, Sherlock."

"Don't you dare! What you did was unforgivable."

"Yes, well. I take full responsibility for my actions. I'm surprised I need to tell you, yelling at me won't change what has happened. Why come and throw a fit when you know it won't do any good? You should be home talking to your husband. I can only imagine how distraught John must be. His pregnant omega having run off after... well. It wasn't a good thing to leave him that way."

"Don't you bring him into this. John has nothing to do with you!"

Mycroft appeared positively pleased. "My word, brother of mine, so defensive. How you care for John."

Sherlock's lip curled up in a vicious snarl, baring the sharpness of his fangs. He detested the name of his husband being spoken so easily by Mycroft. 

"Mother will be beside herself planning a baby shower."

Sherlock's habitual glare turned positively murderous.

"Let me make myself clear. Under no circumstance are you to tell mother. You will _not_ tell her." Sherlock repeated himself for emphasis. Lord, he couldn't tolerate dealing with his mother right now.

Mycroft's eyes twinkled suspiciously and Sherlock realized it was already too late. A furious outcry of rage burst forth and Sherlock lurched forward, arms reaching out for the arrogant sod. But before he could move further than the edge of the desk, two pairs of hands hardened their hold and roughly slammed him back into his seat.

Mycroft sighed as if heartened by the show of violence from the younger Holmes.

"I couldn't very well _not_ tell her."

Sherlock simmered in his seat, body trembling from the want of getting his hands on Mycroft.

Mycroft's amusement gave way to a sudden and surprising seriousness, "Listen to me, Sherlock. You are an intelligent, reserved man, who lacks the will to openly express feelings. I know... John Watson is not. You torture him daily with your inability to give an inch where sentimentality is concerned and, frankly, John deserves better than you. I feel almost guilty that he won't have an affair."

Heat rose to Sherlock's face, his blood boiling with the thought of it, but something triggered within him at Mycroft's words.

"Guilt?"

Mycroft paused for a brief moment, "For giving John's file to mother."

Sherlock had no solid reason to doubt him, but this was Mycroft, and so he did. 

"Don't do it." Mycroft demanded of the consultant.

"Do what?" Sherlock feigned confusion.

Mycroft didn't buy it and sent him a warning glare. 

"You will lose him."

That wiped the act of perplexity away. Sherlock's heart stuttered, before there came a vice-like grip, seemingly meant to crush it.

"You abort this pregnancy and you will lose John's love."

Sherlock's silver eyes lowered to the ground. Mycroft knew him well enough to know he'd never wanted his heat, never wanted children. Then again, he'd never wanted to marry, but he had. Regardless, he'd been contemplating the option with more certainty than question. 

As much as Sherlock hated Mycroft, he knew the gentleman was right. John's love for him would be destroyed. 

"Tell your men to release me.... I want to leave." Sherlock gave a heavy breath of defeat, his anger having dissipated and all he felt now was exhausted. 

Mycroft gave a curt nod to his men and the agents immediately released him of their hold. Sherlock didn't bother meeting Mycroft's eyes as he rose from his chair and moved towards the door. But Sherlock's exit wasn't quick enough to run from the alpha's next words, an unwanted parting gift for Sherlock to mull over.

"You are reserved to the point of cruelty. He's depressed. Alone. Giving him a family will bring joy back into his life."

Sherlock's shoulders slouched; his steps faltered, but he didn't stop, and slammed the door behind him on his way out. He hated that he knew Mycroft was right. He would lose John if he aborted this pregnancy. Not physically, but emotionally. He knew, he wasn't blind. John was depressed. He was alone. He needed something, and right now that something - whether Sherlock understood it or not - was Victor Trevor. 

It was infuriating and disheartening that he cared. That the idea of losing John's... love affected him. He felt the most sentimental about John, because they had developed a closeness through The Work, and life. John was always there for him. Always cared for him. So Sherlock couldn't be blamed for developing a fondness for the alpha. But it wasn't a big stretch for him. He cared for Redbeard just as much as he cared for John now... No, maybe not the same, but close. 

As Sherlock sat himself in the cab, heading back home where his alpha was sure to be losing his mind with worry, he knew what he could and could not do. Sherlock could endure nine bloody horrible months carrying John's litter, if it meant that John's depression faded, he gained ultimate joy, and _Victor Trevor_ got out of their lives. Sherlock could not do for John's pain and grief at losing his children.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock and John sat across from each other within the living room of the still home. Sherlock's elbow pressed heavily against the armrest, his head tilted to his hand where he rubbed at his eyes, and thought. The omega hadn't said much when he'd entered to find John freshly showered and dressed, seated in his red chair, wringing his fingers and staring up expectantly at the omega. Hadn't said much but, "Let's talk."

 _Let's talk_. Sherlock had said, and he'd sat across from him, but the omega didn't talk. He'd merely stared at John, scanning the worry in his features, inhaled a deep breath before leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his eyes.

John waited... and waited. 

Sherlock raised his head up, dropped his hand to lie on the armrest and inhaled another breath. Still, there was no talking.

"Please." John was desperate to know what the omega was thinking.

"I..." Sherlock began, but then his words fell away. 

"I know. I know this is a big thing. We didn't plan for this to happen, but..." John hated it, how his voice trembled and his eyes watered, but he knew. He didn't have to have Sherlock tell him what he was thinking about. Sherlock wasn't... Didn't value things most people did. 

John knew he had no right to ask, but that didn't change the fact he wanted to. _God!_ He would beg if it meant Sherlock would keep their pups. He loved them already, because they were his and Sherlock's. They were family and he'd been lacking a family for a long time. He had Harry, but that was different. He loved her and he would always take care of her, but he'd always wanted children. He'd always wanted a mate that loved him. Someone who he could spend his life with, grow old with. Someone kind and loving, who would bless him with a family. Children they could raise together, watch them grow and learn. If he could just have children, then that was more than enough, because it just tied himself closer to his mate. 

John wouldn't ask though. He couldn't, because he knew it wasn't his place to. This was Sherlock's body and it would be Sherlock's decision alone. The only hope John had was that his husband was intelligent and capable of reading what others hid. Sherlock would deduce all of John's wishes and needs and hopefully take it into account. Then again, Sherlock hadn't discovered he'd married him for other reasons than he'd confessed to so... There was that disheartening realization.

"Please, John." Sherlock's voice was thin, weary, and John realized Sherlock had already made his decision.

"Right." John choked out, unable to will the wetness from his eyes, it doubled in seconds and he was barely containing them. "I... I understand, it's... It's your choice and..."

"Shut up." Sherlock sighed, his words holding no bite.

John's wet eyes looked up to find a softness in silver that had not been there before. Sherlock appeared tired, his shoulders awkwardly slouched, eyes as soft as before, and carried a hint of affection.

"You really are... a wonderful man." Sherlock clasped his hands over his lap and scanned John's eyes for something, what that was only Sherlock knew. But he seemed to find whatever it was and smiled warmly.

"I... might not be a wonderful mother, but you, _John_ , will be a wonderful father." 

John found a tightness that constricted his throat then and there, because he suddenly didn't know what to say. From what it sounded like... Sherlock had made his decision and it was one he hadn't thought the omega would choose. But he had to be wrong. He must have misheard. Sherlock couldn't have meant...

Sherlock's brows furrowed with concern at the length of John's silence.

"Was I wrong? Do you wish for me to--?"

"No!" John's vocal cords strained to break the silence of his shock in that moment, because the very thought of Sherlock finishing that sentence, of actually taking those actions, destroyed him. 

Sherlock frowned and looked away, staring at the wall. Obviously not appreciating John's reaction. He'd thought he'd be more--

There came a strangled whine, followed by a sniffle that had Sherlock curiously glancing back at John. Finding the alpha stubbornly wiping his wet eyes, while looking at him as if... as if Sherlock were the most amazing thing on this earth, well that was... It just was... was.

"I'm sorry. I just... You were gone for so long and I... I thought you would, and it..." John's words became rounder, more choked, and rough with each word, until he couldn't speak and he shook his head; a tear managed to sneak past his hands and fell down his flushed cheek. Sherlock followed it, saw it glide further, under his chin and drop to John's lap, to be absorbed in the cloth of his slacks.

" _Sherlock_." John whimpered piercingly and that sound, the pain, joy, and love circulating the utterance of his name tugged at his heart.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, dumbfounded when the alpha fell to his knees before him, John's trembling hands moved to palm his knees as he bowed his head. Pressing his forehead against Sherlock's lap, humming a pleased noise, his alpha contented with the thought of this omega carrying their children.

"I love you, Sherlock." John rasped, his tears falling freely, unchecked and dampening Sherlock's expensive slacks.

Sherlock tensed, unsure what to do or say. Staring wide-eyed at the alpha breaking down with joy, he could only imagine how much worse it would have been if he'd chosen to abort his pregnancy. He knew, watching the alpha nuzzle his legs and keen happily, he'd made the right decision. John would be a wonderful father. He'd offer their children what Sherlock lacked. Who knew, maybe overtime he would amend his faults and become a sufficient enough mother for their children. 

"J-John, really now." Sherlock gruffly admonished, a quaking hand moving to hesitantly rest against silk blond hair.

"Oh, Sherlock." John sighed, his nuzzling rising higher until the alpha's chest lay heavily against his lap with John's face buried against his taunt stomach, scenting and cooing, knowing that there... their pups were, growing.

Sherlock clamped his eyes shut, bit into his bottom lip to hold back a whimper of need and shakily carded his fingers through John's hair.

 _God, help me!_ Sherlock wasn't sure he could survive this pregnancy with a doting husband.

  



	15. Chapter 15

Six Weeks Later

There came a knock at the door, but Sherlock ignored it. He buried his head in his hand and groaned out in misery.

"Sherlock... Are you okay?" John was beyond the door; the concern was clear in his voice.

"I'm dying." Sherlock declared, and was immediately answered by a soft snort of hilarity - apparently John could care less about his perils. 

"I'm sure that's not the case." John announced and turned the knob of the door. 

Sherlock unburied his face from out of his hand and turned to kneel over the toilet, hands pressed against the seat, keeping himself balanced. A sudden lurch of his stomach warning him of what was to come. Raising his sights up, Sherlock glared at the smugly grinning alpha, knowing John intended to comfort him. Sherlock didn't care about the logistics. He'd spent the last half an hour chucking his guts out and it was hell. 

_Absolute hell._

"You're not dying, Sherlock. Morning sickness is a natural occurrence with pregnancy. It will get better." John smiled sweetly.

"Why do they call it morning sickness? That is complete rubbish." Sherlock sighed heavily. Holding back the rest of his well thought out tirade, he shut his eyes, and instead focused on calming himself. Being angry and sick was not the best of combinations. Though, he didn't think it would help that much in the long run. His stomach churned with that familiar discomforting feeling. 

Gagging with the beginnings of it all, Sherlock sat straighter and aimed. As he chucked out the remaining contents of his dinner from Angelo's, John moved to kneel at his side, and lovingly pushed back the bangs that covered his eyes.

"I know, darling. Remember, this stage will pass. You're doing so well." John's lips pressed into his shoulder, the pads of his fingers kindly rubbing his scalp. A moment after Sherlock expelled everything left over and caught his breath, he grabbed at the hand towel John retrieved from the counter.

Wiping his mouth, Sherlock cleared his throat, and shut his eyes once more. Sherlock had never been fond of touch. He endured it when his parents (predominately his mother) touched him, and Mycroft (on _extremely rare_ occasions) did it, but all in all, he shied away from human touch. It wasn't that it repulsed him, it was that it, for lack of a better word, unsettled him. It didn't feel right to be touched. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact, as a child it had felt comforting to have his mother embrace him, especially when he had a difficult day at school. 

It wasn't right though. It was a weakness and if he allowed it to continue it would become a horrid habit to break. He'd find himself seeking the comfort of people and he didn't need people in his life. Having people in his life opened him up to the possibility of sentiment and sentiment was a weakness that would destroy him. 

Now however, he couldn't push it away, because this touch was of his John Watson; husband, mate, alpha, and now... father of his children. John was... John was the answer to all the things unanswerable. He was the solution to all the world's problems. He was his soundboard. His moral compass. He was what made everything clear for Sherlock. Without him, Sherlock wasn't sure he could be the same as he was before he'd met him. Even then, he wasn't more than he was with his alpha. John was... John was _made_ for him. He was something Sherlock hadn't realized he'd needed, but after meeting him, after working with him, after developing... whatever it was they had, he couldn't be without him. 

So John's touch felt right. It made everything in Sherlock relax and... at first it frightened him and made him pull away because it just... It was so new and startlingly perfect, but... Feeling miserable, sick to his stomach and hating to be alone in his suffering... Having John here...Talking sweetly to him.... Tending to his needs... Touching him... Sherlock wanted it. He hated how he wanted it, but he wanted it regardless. 

He... He felt a great many things for John. Sherlock had known this since... since a long while ago. If he were truly being honest with himself, he'd realized what it was he felt for John since that hospital visit where he'd thought himself to be having a heart attack. He couldn't say it though. Not even to himself, within his mind. He couldn't own up to feeling that way because... It was scary. Scary that he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable in the one way that he knew would completely and utterly destroy him if he were ever to be hurt by John and so... he could never admit to that feeling. 

He enjoyed the gentle touch of his mate. This had been happening since their heat. The touching. John had been more... affectionate. Physically touching him more than ever before. Where they'd once only touched when assisting each other rise from seats, falls, and attending to wounds brought on through The Work, they now... _John_ now touched Sherlock for whatever reason.

A hand pressed against his lower back when they were side-by-side (though never in crowded public areas). But Sherlock understood that public touches like that would only feed the media and God forbid they realize what their relation was towards one another. Inside a cab, John would seat himself in the middle and rest a hand on Sherlock's knee. When in public, at a crime scene, or home, John would clasp a gentle hold of Sherlock's arm and rub at it briefly before walking away. When they lazed about at home on John's day off and there was no case that required their attention, John would gravitate towards Sherlock wherever he might be. He'd lean down and scent Sherlock's neck as he experimented at the kitchen table, hum happily before walking away. When Sherlock sat in his gray chair reading a book or simply filing away information within his mind palace, John would sneak up from behind his chair, stroke a hand through his hair and dip low to scent his neck once more before leaving a flustered omega to contemplate the alpha's actions. 

Then there were the times in which Sherlock would go to his room to rest, or sleep. John would knock on the door, and even knowing what the alpha's intentions were, Sherlock would find himself inviting him inside. John would seat himself on the side of the bed while Sherlock would obligingly lay himself on his back and shut his eyes in preparation. John would then lay on his affections. John spent the next half an hour nuzzling his abdomen and talking to their children. He'd rub Sherlock's belly with his hand and or face. Talking softly, his voice so full of love that Sherlock could never understand how something so small could make his face turn beet-red. 

"Stop patronizing me." Sherlock snipped, when he finally felt his stomach settle.

John smiled up at at the glare Sherlock gave him, tenderly twirling his fingers in the omega's hair.

"I'm not patronizing you. I only wish to make you feel better." 

Sherlock bit his tongue, unsure how to respond. Since their heat everything about their relationship had changed. John wasn't holding back his affections and Sherlock wasn't fighting them off, though he knew he could. A part of him didn't want to. If he did, they'd revert back to the way things had been before, and then... John might go out to spend his time with Victor Trevor. As it was now, John had only visited Victor twice in the last six weeks, which was infinitely better than the three times in a week that had been a normal routine of his mate.

"Come along. Let's get you to bed."

Sherlock was tired. It was only 11:27PM, but since he'd gotten pregnant he found himself needing more rest and right now, sleep sounded like the best thing. Brushing his teeth with John standing at his side rubbing his lower back felt far better than Sherlock would have ever believed. Regardless of his agreement that rest was what he needed, he grumbled about blasted morning sickness and such until they'd reached the bed.

As usual, Sherlock moved to lay himself in the middle of the bed, supine, pushed the comforter down to his hips, and shut his eyes in preparation of what was to come. John's hand pressed over his stomach a moment later and stroked over the cotton of his plain gray shirt. 

"Hello my darlings."

Sherlock bit his tongue and fisted the sheets. John's hand moved in a circle, a circle that was large and slow. That circle became smaller and smaller. That warm hand glided over every part of his abdomen before widening and closing in, again and again.

"Please be nice to your mother. He's irritable and needs a good night's rest for you. Take care of him, because he's taking such good care of you. Daddy will watch over mummy, and make sure you all get to come out and see us when you're ready."

Sherlock wanted to berate his alpha, tell him that they couldn't understand them, but he didn't. He didn't want to. John was a doctor, he knew this already. Which meant he was doing this for sentimental reasons and Sherlock wouldn't chastise him for that. Not this time. 

"Daddy hopes you come out looking like Mummy. Mummy is so beautiful. I wish you all have your mum's hair and eyes. If not, that's okay too. I love you to bits already."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open when John grabbed the hem of his shirt and raised it far enough to expose the whole of his abdomen. _This was new._ Curious as to what John was doing, but then his answer came. Sherlock bit his bottom lip hard, choking back a whimper when heated smooth lips pressed over his delicate skin.

Kiss after kiss, slow and wet. Sherlock squirmed under the attention. His breathing coming out labored, startled and embarrassed when his cock gave an interested twitch. Sherlock wasn't on any suppressants now that he was pregnant, and though John could start back up on his suppressants, he hadn't. That didn't matter right now. What mattered was he was affected and if John didn't stop soon his embarrassment would only grow as John would scent the effect it had on him.

Thank whatever higher being existed because John stopped, after the 18'th kiss (Sherlock counted), John brought Sherlock's shirt down to cover the exposed skin and sat up straighter. Smiling down at his blank stare, John rubbed Sherlock's belly one last time.

"Get some rest love. I'll make you breakfast in the morning?" John said as his parting and rose from the bed and shut the door behind him.

Sherlock palmed his face in his hands and groaned. God, this pregnancy was torture. He couldn't do eight more months of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Week Eight_

Sherlock was losing his mind with annoyance because everything was changing. His transport was broken. He was hungry and he'd just eaten three whole meals the day before. He should be fueled up and ready to work, but no. Instead Sherlock found himself drifting away to thoughts of food and that wasn't acceptable. Not when he stood at a crime scene trying to absorb all the information around him. Sherlock refused to be distracted by his nagging hunger and took in the scene around him, focused on remembering every detail of the crime scene. 

When John and Sherlock left and entered the cab, intending to go back home so Sherlock could focus all his thoughts on solving the mystery of this double homicide, something caught his eye.

"Stop!" Sherlock called out to the cab driver and the car immediately came to a halt.

"Sherlock!" John shouted after the omega as Sherlock exited the automobile.

"Pay the man, John." the omega said and then he was gone, dodging inside of a Mexican restaurant. 

John came inside just as Sherlock was making his order to go. The alpha smiled brightly up at him and Sherlock glared back.

"Before you say anything, our breakfast wasn't all that filling and I need something with substance." Sherlock grumbled.

"Right. Two French toasts, eggs, sausage, with coffee and orange juice, isn't enough substance. It's been two hours since then, of course you need to replenish." John moved to stand by Sherlock's side and smiled at the wall instead of at the flustering omega. 

"Are you mocking me?" Sherlock frowned.

" _Nooo_. I absolutely love how ravenous your appetite has become. It means our pups will be quite large and healthy." John subtly moved his face close enough to scent his husband, inhaling a long breath of Sherlock's scent.

"Shut up." Sherlock snatched his order from the woman the moment it was offered to him.

"Pay the woman, John!" Sherlock commanded and exited the restaurant. Sherlock then quickly made his way to the famers market he'd noticed half a block away, he suddenly had a craving for bananas to go with his chicken burrito. 

As Sherlock neared the market, John caught up to him and was beaming with joy. Sherlock tried not to notice much more than that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock bit back a whimper when seating himself at the kitchen table to work on his human cell research. But it was too late, the sharp broken noise managed to reach John's ears and the alpha was out of his red chair and dropping his book in seconds. He rushed over to Sherlock's side, eyes full of worry and Sherlock hated the sight of them.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Sherlock gritted out through clenched teeth and shifted stiffly in his chair.

John's eyes caught the tension of his body, the way he was slouching forward and raised a hand to palm his back.

"Is it your back?"

Sherlock stared with annoyance at the table before him, "Yes."

"Oh, Sherlock. You should have said something. It's perfectly normal to have sore joints and muscles when pregnant. Where does it hurt?"

"My lower back." Sherlock gave in, sighing heavily.

"Come on up." John grabbed for Sherlock's hand and helped the omega rise.

"Why?" Sherlock didn't protest and merely followed John in the direction of his room.

"I'm going to give you a massage. It should help."

Sherlock felt heat rise to his face, as he allowed John to lead him to the bed. Moments later he found himself laying on his stomach, face buried deep into his pillow, his shirt drawn up and John's oiled hands rubbing along the tense muscles of his lower back.

Cuffed groans and whines spilled from his lips, muffled by the cushion of the pillow, but only slightly. He couldn't help it. It felt wonderful, John working out the kinks and knots of tightly corded muscles, loosening and releasing all the tension and pain that had built up over the weeks.

"Good?" John's voice had gone low and rough, and God help him, Sherlock's cock twitched at that sound alone.

"Mm, good." Sherlock answered, his mind fogging with the wonderful sensations. John's rough hands pressing hard over his muscles sent a thrill through him and he was helpless to ignore the effects without the assistance of his suppressants.

He could scent his own arousal, even with his nose buried in his pillow, which meant John could smell it too, only much more strongly. His cock was hardening quickly and he couldn't fight back the needs when his pelvis rubbed against the mattress and a pitiful whimper escaped.

"It's okay." John reassured, warm hands stilling in their ministrations.

"No, it's not." Sherlock fought the needs of his body and tensed up his pelvis, refusing to let himself give. 

"It really is okay. It's perfectly normal for a pregnant omega to be... affected." 

Sherlock raised his head, face flushed, his scowl hard and unforgiving. Sherlock knew just what John was implying and he most certainly was not... that, damn what those pregnancy books said. 

"It's all okay, Sherlock." John's eyes were kind and he helpfully lowered Sherlock's shirt to cover the revealed skin of his back.

"How does your back feel?" John wondered, ignoring the elephant in the room. 

"Mm. Better." Sherlock begrudgingly admitted and stretched his back in an arch, testing the bounds, but there was no painful strain. 

"Good." John dipped low and surprised Sherlock with a wet kiss to his cheek, before the alpha was up and heading for the door.

"I'll make dinner." John called from the hallway. 

Sherlock groaned out his frustrations and buried his face in his pillow. He wanted to die.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Week Eleven_

Since the morning sickness had begun, the craving for food proved to push back his fast paced life, and everything else that was pregnancy related made life harder - there was not much that could appease Sherlock.

"No!" Sherlock whined and slammed the refrigerator door shut.

"Sherlock?" John was at his side in moments and watched as the furious omega knocked away his petri dishes set out on the kitchen counter.

"I can't take it!" Sherlock roared. "I can't even experiment on human organs, John, this is a horrendous violation that my body has plagued me with!"

John glanced over to the shut fridge and realized that Sherlock's stomach could no longer tolerate the human remains. The sight of which made Sherlock sick. Sighing softly, the alpha made his way over to Sherlock with caution. Raising his hands out before him, John met Sherlock's gaze before leaning forward and wrapped his arms around the nauseous omega.

"It's alright, Sherlock. It will only last for a little while longer."

"That's what you keep saying." Sherlock huffed, glaring at the wall across from them, unable to snap at the alpha's affections. His hug was tight and warm, it made Sherlock think irrationally. Things like: it was because of John's arms around him that he felt whole, and if he pulled away now, he would fall apart. 

Pregnancy was making him into a simpleton, because his wit was diminishing, he found himself not caring and wrapped his own arms around John. Tightening his hold, Sherlock yanked John closer to himself and buried his face into the crook of the alpha's neck and inhaled an audible breath.

"Sweet." Sherlock liked the sweetness of apple and brown sugar mixing with almonds. As a matter of fact, he wondered if they had any almonds. 

John laughed deeply, it vibrated against his chest and pleasantly against Sherlock's own. 

"I'm hungry." The nausea had vanished the moment he'd scented the sweetness of his alpha and now all Sherlock could think about was food.

"Oh?" John asked, pulling away enough so he could meet silver. 

"Mm."

"Have any preference?"

"Something sweet. Apple pie." 

Releasing Sherlock of his hold John moved away and towards the doorway.

"I'll stop by the bakery down the street." 

Sherlock watched John grab his keys, wallet, and coat, before he swung open the door.

"Wait, John!" Sherlock stopped the alpha before he took another step out the door.

"Yes?" John waited, that same, near permanent smile of joy on his face.

"I also want almonds." 

John nodded.

"Oh! Something salty too, pretzels. If it's not too much trouble." Sherlock managed to holler out just moments before John shut the door and knew his husband caught it by the hearty laughter that carried just beyond the wooden door. 

Glancing down at his stomach, Sherlock palmed it. It wasn't so large, but the taunt muscles that had once been there were less prominent. His stomach was softer and stuck out just slightly. He could still fit into his clothes, so he wasn't over indulging, it was perfectly fine if he wanted to feed his cravings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was hot. Bloody boiling hot in the flat. Sherlock couldn't believe that the thermostat was set at 75 - that was cool enough, sometimes too much, but not today. He'd brought it down to 69 and John hadn't said anything. But when the alpha left the room for a brief moment and returned shortly after sporting a sweater, Sherlock realized it was just him.

Even so, John didn't complain and allowed Sherlock to turn their home into a freezer. It wasn't enough though. His tie was cutting into his throat and made him feel stuffy. Sweat beaded at his forehead and he hated feeling damp under the collar. Removing his tie and unbuttoning his first three buttons helped a fraction, but it still felt intolerable. Next to be discarded was his coat, then his shoes and socks. 

It all helped, but still Sherlock couldn't relax. Letting out a frustrated grumble, Sherlock went to his bedroom to see if he had anything in his wardrobe that would help him. 

John tried not to let the temperature of the room bother him. In order to still his body from the chills and shivers, he quickly went to his room and grabbed a sweater to wear. He knew Sherlock's body was going through many changes and hot flashes were an extremely common occurrence. 

John was blissfully happy, even within their ice cold flat, he couldn't help himself. He was smiling like a loon most times and it was a wonder Sherlock hadn't insulted him for it. Sherlock... _God_ , Sherlock was positively glowing. His skin shone in the lighting of day and at night, it carried a warmth that melted his heart. 

Over the weeks Sherlock's scent was changing; there was a sort of bitterness that hadn't been there. It was a woodsy sort of smell that reminded John of the times he'd go camping with his parents and Harry as a boy. It brought back memories of a happier time in his life and John loved Sherlock for it. Loved the new scent of their pups even more. 

Hearing the clustered sounds of their pups' hearts beating when they'd gone to the gynecologist on week ten of Sherlock's pregnancy was just about the most wonderful of experiences. John knew he'd been a mess of tears as Sherlock quietly lay on the medical bed and listened in silence. 

John hadn't been able to contain his joy and had taken hold of one of Sherlock's hands that laid still at his side. He cradled his omega's hand in both of his and kissed the pale delicate fingers of his mate. 

"Oh Sherlock." John had shakily whimpered.

To John's complete and utter surprise, Sherlock's eyes had softened at the sight of him and with heat blossoming upon his pale features, the omega reached out and stroked John's hair in an almost loving caress, meant to soothe. 

When their doctor had asked if they'd wanted to know how many pups they'd be having, John had answered, no. They'd talked about it before their appointment and John wanted it to be a surprise. All they wanted to know was if they'd be having both genders or one specific gender, and they explained that to their doctor, who reassured them that she'd let them know when it became clear enough to identify.

John sometimes worried if maybe all of this was too much for Sherlock to handle, that a small part of him might resent the fact he was pregnant, but that fear had been disproven just the night before. 

After such a long day at work, John had come home and made them a large dinner. Sherlock had been in the mood for lasagna. Not just any lasagna, but John's vegetarian lasagna he'd learned from his mother as a boy. John couldn't say no to Sherlock, not for anything and even though it meant he'd have to stop by the market to fetch a few ingredients to make it, he would, and did. 

Not only had he made Sherlock vegetarian lasagna, but he'd also baked a carrot cake, and had to make a midnight stop at a 24hour grocery store to stock up on some more bananas. Apparently, Sherlock couldn't get enough of them and wanted them with everything, even waking up craving them. 

After dinner and a quick run for bananas at midnight, John was exhausted and couldn't do much but plunk himself on the couch and shut his eyes. The trip up another set of stairs to his bedroom was far too much for his liking. No, the couch was just fine. 

Sherlock was busy finishing up an experiment at the kitchen table and didn't stay up later than 2:00AM since he'd become pregnant. He also slept in longer than before, so it didn't worry John. Still, John found it a fraction more difficult to slip into a deep sleep when Sherlock moved about in the kitchen, clanging things about. 

Sherlock persisted to huff agitatedly every few moments, until it roused John to full clarity and his eyes snapped open to glance over to the omega. Sherlock, seated in his chair, had given up working on his experiment for the moment and instead glared at his abdomen.

"Really, now you want to bother me?" Sherlock sighed dramatically, and palmed his stomach and rubbed at it gently.

"I gave you far more than enough." Sherlock paused and snarled when his stomach gave a loud grumble. 

"Fine!" Sherlock stood to his feet and quickly retrieved a banana from off the kitchen counter and began eating with a deep scowl upon his face.

John shut his eyes every so often so as not to risk being caught by the omega - Sherlock believed him to be asleep. Still, John felt pleased when Sherlock had his fill, two and a half bananas. Rubbing his filled stomach, Sherlock gave it a sure pat.

"You're going to make mummy fat." Sherlock pouted, pinching at the steadily softening of his belly. 

"Will you take responsibility if I can no longer walk because I weigh a ton? What will daddy say? Hmm? I'm blaming you. I did just fine eating every three days." 

John bit his tongue to hold back a bark of laughter. Sherlock was talking to their pups and though he was complaining, the warmth in his voice could not be masked as anything but care. Sherlock cared for their pups and that nearly brought John to tears. 

_God, he was a sap._

John glanced up from his book when he heard shuffling as Sherlock re-emerged from his bedroom, face wet with sweat and wearing a white sheet wrapped around his body. Revealing one bare shoulder, arm, and one lean leg.

John choked on spit and began coughing noisily, attempting to catch his breath and clear his throat all at once.

"Sherlock!" John demanded to know what the bloody hell possessed his husband to walk around their flat naked with only a piece of cloth to cover him.

"I can't help it. I'm hot!" Sherlock whined, eyes pained and shamed, but unable to fix the way he was feeling.

John's face turned hot as he palmed it, trying not to look, but being unable to stop himself from doing so because...

"Are you... wearing anything under...?"

Sherlock stared blankly at John and that seemed to answer it.

_Good Lord. You're going to kill me._

John rose from his chair and moved towards the front door.

"I'm going to... go shopping." John informed, because he couldn't stay and look at Sherlock wearing nothing but a thin sheet for clothing. He was a man after all and Sherlock was absolutely stunning.

"Oh." Sherlock looked down to the ground, briefly wondering if he was driving John out, but then he remembered something.

"Don't forget bananas!" Sherlock made sure to yell it as John shut the door behind him a millisecond before. 

" _Oh_ , and vanilla ice cream!"

Sherlock hoped John heard him he had a craving for bananas and the ice cream would cool him down.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock was horny. Raging with hormones. How could he stop himself when all he smelled was the sweetness of his John's alpha pheromones? Sherlock had lost his mind weeks ago. That was the only reason why he'd given up trying to have an afternoon nap in his own bed and opted for rolling around in John's own. 

Sherlock lifted one of John's pillows and pressed it against his face all while lying on his back on the bed that was much smaller than his own. He inhaled a deep whiff of his mate and whimpered pathetically, cock pulsing, pants wet with pre-come and slick - Sherlock had become a slut for his alpha. 

Sherlock squirmed against the sheets, knowing there would be no way to hide he'd gone into the alpha's room and right now he didn't care. He was on week thirteen of his pregnancy and it was well known that omega's became sexuality active with their mates during that time. It usually lasted for another five weeks, but some omega's kept wanting it even days before birth.

Sherlock wanted John, but that, he wouldn't allow himself. No. He'd have to bear it. And the only way to substitute a really good roll in the sack was rolling in John's bed, scenting his alpha and getting off on it. 

"John." Sherlock's muffled gasp filled the pillow he pressed into his face with one hand while his other hand moved to palm himself through his slacks. Feeling his hardness as he dragged his hands lower between his legs, and then he felt his slacks soaking up with slick. 

"Fuck, I can't! I can't." Sherlock berated himself, but then ignored the logical sense that warned him he was going too far, and removed the pillow partially suffocating him and hurriedly set about removing his slacks, followed shortly after by the rest of his clothes. 

Shuffling under the comforter, Sherlock moaned, excited by the feel of the bed sheets rubbing along his sensitive skin. One hand rubbed the tender flesh of his nipple, stroking over it again and again, until it hardened into a stubborn bead, needing. 

Sherlock shut his eyes and brought up an image of John, naked, settled between his legs and feasting on his nipples one after the other. Sherlock's hands furiously pinching at the pink flesh, agitating and reddening his perked up nipples, needing more, wanting more. 

"Oh!" Sherlock thrust up and into the heavy comforter draped over him. Giving himself the friction of rough cotton, but not enough so to set himself off. It was wonderful and yet still not enough. 

"John!" Sherlock croaked, pushing the pillow completely off himself, and his hips bouncing wildly, his hands lowering to cup his bollocks while his other fisted the heated solidness of his cock. 

Rocking up and down John's tightly constricting fist, Sherlock lunged forward and captured his husband's mouth in his own and whimpered when John pulled away seconds after the connection.

John merely sent him a devilish smile and instead of kissing him, he set about devouring his small cock, taking the small thing effortlessly in his wet hot mouth and set about suckling it. Loving it in the way he wouldn't love his mouth and Sherlock whined, wanting John to continue and yet wishing his alpha would kiss him. Sherlock's imaginations wouldn't even bless him with the blessing of a kiss. 

Sherlock's fist jerked frenziedly, stinging slightly with no lubricant, but a quick swipe of his hand to his lower thighs slicked them up just enough and he set back at it. Thrusting into John's mouth, while John's hand loved on his bollocks, fondling them, rolling them in his hand. His tongue rubbed against the sensitive underside and Sherlock arched up, breathing intensifying, cut off little gasps and groans breaking free. Sherlock was close.

"Oh John. Sweet, wonderful John!"

Sherlock sobbed, thrashing against the bed, hearing it creak as his eyes squeezed tight with the building of goodness. His toes curled. His face felt flushed, beads of sweat materializing just over his brow. His mind fogging, a sign of his impending release. Words bunched up in his mind, the image of John flickering, becoming harder to keep focused as his mind palace shook on it's foundations. The scent of his alpha clouding and filling him, smothering and killing him.

"Oh John. _Mm, John... Oh!_ " Sherlock gave a triumphant cry, come shooting out and staining the comforter above, while slick squirted under and soaked the sheets below. 

"My John." Sherlock whimpered, squirming with the aftershocks, feeling completely used and unbelievably good. 

A loud thud sounded and Sherlock's eyes snapped open, his body froze, hands still cradling his bollocks and cock, all while he stared up at a very flushed and shocked John standing at the door. His work satchel lay at his feet and suddenly Sherlock realized the creaking he'd believed to be the bed had actually been the door opening, which meant, John had seen it all, heard it all, and well... 

_Christ_.

Swallowing thickly, Sherlock met John's wide eyes and felt his own features turn red with embarrassment.

"Welcome home?" Sherlock found himself saying, because what the hell could he say?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John hadn't said anything to Sherlock's greeting, just stared on in complete and utter shock, though that wasn't completely true. Sherlock could scent John and he didn't smell angry, he smelled like arousal. Sherlock knew John loved him, so... He shouldn't be angry, right? If anything he should thank Sherlock for finding him wonderfully acceptable as a mate and be flattered Sherlock could get off with thoughts of him.

"Are you going to say something?" Sherlock asked, sitting up in the bed, the sheets still covering his lower half. His upper chest he shielded from view by folding his arms.

John's jaw slackened, his lips parted and shut, then opened and released a piercing whine, but nothing else, before the alpha shut his mouth again.

"It's a natural part of an omega pregnancy, John. You said so yourself. It's not my fault that my hormones make me want to...on your bed." 

John stared blankly at Sherlock, before seeming to finally snap out of the shock of it all and shook his head, 'no'. 

"Right. So you see, this is all rather understandable." Sherlock unfolded his arms and dug a hand under the comforter, blindly searching for his clothes. 

"After I change my clothes, I'll switch out your sheets. It's only fair since I soiled them." Sherlock said, grabbing a hold of his pants under the comforter, and almost missed the choked whimper John gave at Sherlock's use of the word soiled. 

"This... It was rather helpful, do you mind... If I... proceed with this habit throughout this stage of pregnancy for however long it will last?" Sherlock couldn't stop himself from asking, but it really didn't matter what John said, because his hormones would beat out any sense of logic and he knew it'd be futile for him to hold himself back from doing such. 

"Um, You're... My bed... I... Sherlock." John couldn't seem to find his words. Clearing his throat, John made an awkward hand gesticulation that Sherlock assumed meant John was giving his consent. 

Sherlock removed his shirt from under the comforter and slipped it on and smiled back at John. This was surprisingly less awkward than he thought it would be. John was an understanding man and Sherlock wasn't much one for being in touch with his sexuality, but this, for the time being, this could work. 

"John, I've been craving chicken salad. Make some? I'm rather hungry."

John stared at Sherlock's pale chest, watching as the omega started buttoning his shirt from the bottom up and swallowed audibly. 

"Uh... Okay... Right." John raised his eyes back up to meet Sherlock's own and gave a jerky nod. "I'll just... I'll start doing that." 

Sherlock smiled fondly at the flustered John as his alpha spun on his heel and left, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock wondered if maybe asking John to lay beside him so that he could scent him while he touched himself was too much to ask for? 

It wasn't that Sherlock didn't want John's touch. No. He most certainly wanted it, but if he received it, he'd grow to want more of it, and feel the inclination that John and he belonged together in that way. That would make their relationship all kinds of complicated and indistinguishable. Their relationship was already rather unusual and hard to classify.

Or maybe Sherlock was thinking too much. Trying to control too much. Why was it wrong for them to be together in the sense married mates should be? Was it so wrong to want more? John understood it was difficult for Sherlock to express himself. John knew Sherlock more deeply than anyone else, so maybe...

Sherlock finished dressing himself and sat on the end of the bed staring contemplatively at the shut door. Maybe Sherlock had gotten this all wrong. He knew how he felt for John. This feeling it was stronger than any in-love and happily-married couple had. This feeling Sherlock had... It meant there were no lines Sherlock wouldn't cross, no laws Sherlock wouldn't break, no fears Sherlock couldn't overcome. So... Maybe Sherlock had been wrong and that was surprising in and of itself, but...

Sherlock smiled softly, knowing that beyond that door, downstairs in their kitchen John was preparing him dinner. He'd easily accepted Sherlock's peculiar request with no argument. John understood Sherlock, forgave him easily and readily, and always, always looked to do the very best for him.

 _Good Lord._ Sherlock had been a complete ass to John and the alpha... John truly was a good and wonderful man that Sherlock didn't deserve, but he was Sherlock's. If anything could be changed, it could be the way Sherlock treated John. Sherlock could slowly earn the right to have someone like John.

When Sherlock had finished cleaning up after himself and changing the alpha's sheets, he'd gone to his bathroom to shower and change his clothes. Once finished, the omega went to the kitchen and found the alpha mixing chicken with the freshly made salad and quietly moved to stand behind the alpha. Startling the older man when his arms wrapped around a hard and muscular waist.

"Sherlock." John gasped, tensing in the tight embrace of the omega.

"I've been so wrong. To you and about you." Sherlock sighed heavily against the alpha's neck and unabashedly nuzzled the alpha's scent gland.

"What... are you saying?" John's voice didn't sound like it normally did, it trembled and wavered on a heavy exhale.

Sherlock tugged softly at the alpha's hips and John seemed to understand the voiceless request. Leaving his salad to rest, the alpha spun to face Sherlock then and the omega moved to embrace John again.

"I was wrong. Maybe... Maybe this marriage could be a real marriage."

John searched Sherlock's eyes for something and seemed to find it. When Sherlock's heart gave a painful throb and his features couldn't hide the feelings he'd felt for so long. Sherlock watched as John's deep blue eyes dampened and shined in the light and his cheeks flushed with feeling.

"Oh." John whispered, one of the most sincere smiles gracing his lips then.

"Mm." Sherlock hummed and stroked John's jawline. 

"What now?"

"We eat?" Sherlock offered hopefully and smiled brightly when John laughed.

" _Of course_. Can't go having you starve." 

"Then I can play you some music and maybe you could read to me from one of your horrid romance novels."

"I don't read--"

"I found your collection in your dresser, John."

"You went through my things?" John snapped, all soft warm good feelings vanishing.

"Bit not good?" Sherlock pouted.

"Sherlock!"

"Bit not good." Sherlock confirmed to himself aloud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Watson couldn't remember a time he was this happy. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Sherlock's check-ups with their gynecologist went well. His omega's appetite was ravenous, typical for an omega carrying a large litter. They still didn't know how many pups they would be having, but they'd since learned that it was a mixture of both sexes. It was all wonderful. The surprise that they'd achieve at their pups' birthings would be exciting.

John wanted to have omega pups. The more the merrier. Sherlock wanted alpha submissives. He hadn't said why, but John believed it was due to the rarity. They most probably would have at least one or two alpha submissives, because alpha submissives were known to sire them. Sherlock most likely wanted to prove or disprove such statistics, since there wasn't a lot of research done on alpha submissives. John should be offended that Sherlock wanted to test such theories out on him and their pups, but he could only laugh happily.

In the end, all that mattered was that they had a healthy family and John would make sure he did everything possible to ensure they did. John continued to monitor and prepare Sherlock appropriate meals, pushed him to exercise every day. John didn't want Sherlock to strain his muscles or joints, and certain stretches would make sure the babies moved into the appropriate spot. 

John went to great lengths preparing for the statement they'd soon have to make with the press. Sherlock and John talked about it and finally came to their decision. Sherlock thought it best they tell John's sister about the baby and after he'd given birth they could do a wedding ceremony. He wasn't all that pleased about having another wedding ceremony, but John promised him it wouldn't be more than ten people. 

Telling Harry and Clare went as expected. Harry burst with tears of joy. Clare congratulated them and volunteered to help them decorate the nursery. Harry then asked to be a part of planning the wedding for after the birth. John stressed that they wanted a small wedding, at the court house and a dinner after. Harry volunteered her home. It was a rather beautiful home and her backyard was warm and forrest-like, with hidden trails, a small pond, and beautiful exotic flowers. Harry and Clare enjoyed gardening and they'd made their yard into an oasis. Harry thought it perfectly romantic a set up for dinner and dancing. John had to agree. He trusted Harry, so he left the planning to her, and firmly reassured Sherlock that Harry wouldn't do anything like their first wedding. Sherlock was a bit uneasy, but he trusted John enough so to believe him and that was all John could ask for.

When the news broke out that Sherlock and John had secretly bonded to each other, it had gone almost all according to plan. The swarm of paparazzi bordered their flat and followed them everywhere, until they'd finally chosen a well-known and popular news station and done their interview with a respected reporter. They answered all the questions they viewed prevalent and deserving of an answer and Sherlock quickly and rather wittily shot down any question undeserving. Sherlock did most of the talking and John answered when needed, but otherwise thought it best Sherlock address the reporter. He was so much better at this.

Sherlock made it clear that their children and their personal relationship held no importance in regards to their work and that the press should leave it at that. If they wanted to know about the cases they solved and how they did it then that was all fine because it was part of their work. Their personal lives, not so much.

The press backed off after the interview. There were still a few that photographed them, and wrote stories about them through people they'd met and interviewed, but it all reverted back to the work.

The officers at NSY had mixed feelings. Everyone knew Sherlock was an omega, but none had realized he'd presented and that they were an item. A few had made comments about Sherlock being pregnant, mostly Anderson and Sally, but Lestrade quickly put a stop to their snarky remarks. Lestrade was a good man, who was their friend and kept the other officers working professionally with them, and John was thankful for that.

So yes, coming out as a couple to the press had been surprisingly easy. Easier than having to deal with an upset Victor Trevor, who barged into the flat one evening while Sherlock was away. John had been expecting for Victor to be upset for his lying, but not to this extent.

"You lied to me!" Victor had shouted, pacing the living room floor as John stood, saddened at the sight of Victor's kind eyes filling with tears.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"Hurt me? You've more than hurt me, John. Don't you realize how I feel about you? I... You've broken my heart!" Victor's words shook on the edge of agony and John's heart swelled painfully, because he'd hoped it wasn't this. He knew Victor fancied him, but he'd thought... He'd thought that as their friendship had developed it had softened those feelings of Victor's heart to nought. 

"I... I'm sorry Victor. I've only ever seen you as a friend.... a great friend. You are a wonderful omega, Victor, and I believe you will find someone who will love you--"

"Stop it!" Victor screamed, horrified by the beginnings of John's rejection, a trembling hand running through his hair and fisting painfully in his soft locks, pure sorrow creasing his features. 

John stepped forward, wanting to comfort the emotional omega, his alpha pheromones permeating the room, attempting to set Victor at ease. But John wasn't ready for Victor's eyes to meet his with absolute rage.

"Don't! Don't you dare try and comfort me right now. You led me on. You made me think you liked me!"

"I do like you!"

Victor laughed on a broken sob, "You and Sherlock must have laughed, thought, 'Poor Victor, still alone, a pathetic virgin wishing to find love with the wrong alpha submissive, again!' Oh, how I love you, how stupid I've been, God!"

"No, Victor, never. I... We never--"

"Shut up! You don't get to talk. You don't get to lie some more. Why'd you do it? Why did you do this to me?" Victor furiously wiped his tears from his eyes, but it was hopeless, more came, quicker still.

"Victor." John whimpered, because the scent of the omega's distress hurt his heart. God, John had been such a fool. He'd been so wrong. _Fuck!_

There came a clearing of a throat and both Victor and John snapped their heads in the direction of the open front door. Sherlock stood with a brow raised in question, two shopping bags full of bananas in one hand, the other carrying takeaway from a favorite Chinese restaurant.

"John?" Sherlock asked, features tensing, unsure what to derive from what he'd walked in on.

Victor laughed a sardonic, disturbing laugh, one that strengthened and hissed ominous intent, until Sherlock and John stared at the omega warily. 

"This was a joke, right?" Victor asked of Sherlock.

"What are you--" Sherlock was cut off by Victor laughing harder, though the pain in his eyes could not be hidden.

"This is because I beat you on a few tests? Stupid tests that mean nothing! You broke my heart over a childish competition?"

"Victor, please, calm down." John reasoned. This was getting out of hand. Sherlock was pregnant and John worried Victor might direct the deserving anger from John to Sherlock.

"I'll make you regret this." Victor swore viciously, glaring at Sherlock and then at John, holding the alpha's gaze, though his bottom lip trembled on a voiceless sob.

"You just wait." With that Victor stormed towards the door. Sherlock stepped to the side and watched cautiously as the distressed omega passed by and ran down the stairs and out to the cold night.

"Fuck." John cursed, his body shaking, unsure how to calm the pain of his pulsing heart and the guilt weighing down his stomach.

"John." Sherlock murmured, dropping his bags and moving towards the vibrating alpha and wordlessly wrapped his arms around him.

"I fucked up. Sherlock." John's voice wobbled, his eyesight blurred. He'd hurt Victor - a man he cared for, who was a close friend. He'd just destroyed Victor.

"John." Sherlock soothingly called into his ear, his arms tightening around his waist.

"I should have told him before we went to the press. I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have let him find out like that."

"I'm sure when he calms down--"

"No. He... I didn't mean to lead him on. You were right Sherlock, this wasn't going to end well. You were right."

"This is one time I wish I hadn't been." Sherlock frowned, one hand gliding up the alpha's back to dip his fingers in soft blond hair and caressed it. 

"Sherlock." John whimpered, dampening the omega's neck as he scented his husband, but his omega didn't complain. 

John knew he didn't deserve to be comforted, but right now, holding Sherlock, scenting his sweetness with the scent of their children, he felt himself calming, though the guilt and pain for Victor remained.

  



	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock glared at the vultures surrounding him. Wanting to be anywhere else but here. His mother was a crafty, evil woman, far beyond his ability to beat, and so Sherlock had lost and found himself _here_. Seated within his childhood home, in a hideously decorated room of bright pinks and yellows, with far more balloons and glitter than a gay pride parade. If Sherlock sneezed, it would undoubtedly be confetti. 

A banner hanging over the entryway read in pink and blue, "Happy Baby Shower". Sherlock wanted to die and he was sure John was right there along with him. His alpha had moved over to the bar and filled himself a glass of wine (because Lord forbid they have a baby shower without liquor) and began slowly drinking its contents. Sherlock wished his alpha were like some others, ones who believed it was healthy for a pregnant omega to drink a glass of wine every now and then. But no, he had himself a wary and cautious mate who refused the notion. So all Sherlock could do was stare wantingly at that glass of wine his mate drank.

_Pregnancy wasn't fair!_

Mycroft, who'd been silently watching the events from the corner of the room, quietly moved to join John at the bar. The smile that remained upon his face since this whole hideous party started widened when he spoke to John. His alpha didn't seem all that pleased to talk to Mycroft.

Sherlock's continuous frown deepened when the two alphas moved out of the room and left him alone with the clucking hags. Sherlock wanted to scream. He wanted to get the hell out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was angry. Angry that he and Sherlock were guilted into attending a baby shower not of their choice. John didn't want to do anything that would stress the mother of his pups, and Sherlock most assuredly didn't want to come home for a baby shower, but Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes wouldn't hear any of it.

He'd left Sherlock to be miserable alone, all so he could speak to Mycroft, and what he meant by speaking, he meant-

"So what was _so_ important you wished to speak to me privately?" Mycroft simpered.

John flashed a contemptuous smile before, in a flash of color, he struck out his fist and punched the pompous prat square in the face. Mycroft reeled back, hands moving to cover his bleeding nose, all while green eyes flared with anger.

"That's for tampering with Sherlock's and my suppressants. I meant to do that earlier, but I've been so busy caring for Sherlock." 

"Right." Mycroft grumbled, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and plugging the blood flow.

"You do a dirty trick like that again and it will be more than a broken nose I give you."

Mycroft chuckled at the threat. "You sure you want to say that to a man who can break your marriage?"

"You wouldn't dare." John hissed, knowing the government official could never do such without hurting his own brother in the process.

"No... There are other things I could do."

"I don't care what you do to me. Just leave Sherlock alone." John ordered. Finding he'd said all he'd wanted, John turned on his heel and went back the way he came. He'd left Sherlock in a room full of wolves and he needed to get back to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was left to sulk in his seat while his family talked about the joys of children. He was able to tune out most of it, but then his mother was seating herself in the place John had recently vacated to reacquaint himself with liquor. Raising up her weapon of choice with sparkling eyes and vicious intent - a measuring tape.

"Now it's time to measure the belly. Let's see whose estimates are spot on; there is a lovely gift set out for the winner!" Mrs. Holmes cheerily exclaimed.

Sherlock's eyes widened with horror as that blasted measuring tape neared the girth of his belly. Snatching up the tape with frantic hands, Sherlock hatefully bunched it up within his hands before hurling it as far away from himself at physically possible. 

"There will be no measuring of my girth, thank you very much." Sherlock snarled. He'd listened to his mother and attended the God awful get-together, but there was a line, and he'd be damned if he let her cross it.

Mrs. Holmes' features reddened - part anger, part embarrassment - as some of their guests giggled. One daring to say it must be his hormones. Sherlock almost wanted to raise his six-month-pregnant self up and retrieve that measuring tape, all so he could strangle her with it. 

" _Sherlock, dear, it's tradition._ " Mrs. Holmes hissed, insistently.

"To hell with your bloody traditions. I will annihilate anyone who tries!" Sherlock might just be a _little_ sensitive where his size was concerned. He'd give way to anger and violence whenever someone mentioned his size. 

Even John thought Sherlock's reactions were extreme; he was still upset with the way Sherlock responded to Anderson. He'd only mentioned to Lestrade that they request Sherlock's consultations on cases that didn't require climbing stairs. It had taken Sherlock near fifteen minutes to climb three sets of stairs, and another five to catch his breath on that case. Sherlock thought it was perfectly in his rights to break one of the crime scene investigator's cameras over the man's head and send him to hospital with a concussion. John and Lestrade, seriously did not. Mycroft was called to smooth things over. Lestrade had sent them home. And Sherlock had sworn John had cut onions for their dinner, because his eyes might have been wet when John reprimanded him that night. But that same wetness had dissipated when John tucked him into bed and proceeded to stroke and kiss his gorging, heavily hanging belly, and told him he was the most beautiful omega he'd ever set eyes on.

Sherlock's thoughts were broken at the sight of John's return. Relief filled Sherlock because he knew John would always protect him from his overbearing mother. 

"Mrs. Holmes," John called. His mother's glare turned to that of admiration when they'd averted their gaze to John.

"Yes, dear son-in-law." Mrs. Holmes cooed and Sherlock physically gagged at the sweetness in his mother's voice. She was horrendous.

"I'm rather eager to see the cake you've picked out, not to mention it'd be nice to have something sweet. I do have a rather sweet tooth." John confessed.

Mrs. Holmes giggled along with the rest of the women who heartedly agreed they'd love some cake. Mrs. Holmes clapped her hands and rose from her seat, promising to return with the big reveal.

Sherlock balked at John, his alpha brightly grinning as he raised his glass to his omega, winked, and took the last sip of his wine. Sherlock was sure he could kiss John if not for his nerves. 

John set his glass down on a nearby table stand before breaking their distance. He wasn't sure why, but the way John looked at him made Sherlock's face warm and he glanced down at his hands. John sat next to Sherlock, their thighs and legs pressed tightly against each other, and brought with him a gust of his scent that overwhelmed Sherlock. John's scent made his stomach knot and flutter all at once and gosh, why was John so handsy?

The alpha wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned in to nuzzle his burning ear. "Sherlock." John murmured hotly and Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut as he worked on calming his breathing, because this was too much to handle.

There came some 'aw's' from the nosy women, but Sherlock didn't hear them as John's lips tickled the shell of his ear and he spoke. "Wait until after everyone has their cake in hand, then we'll go outside for some fresh air, since by then you'll be suffering from a hot flash. After, we can sneak out of here and go home."

Sherlock let out a noise distantly resembling a squeak. Good Lord, John was amazing. Turning to meet John's gaze, their faces inches from one another, Sherlock stared at his husband in utter wonder.

"You're bloody brilliant." Sherlock rasped and John tipped his forehead foreward, pressing his against Sherlock's own, in acceptance of that lovely complement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock grimaced at himself, his hand moving to rub the cream over his lower belly. He was huge. His stomach was the size of a large beach ball.

When there came a quick rap at his bedroom door, Sherlock didn't hear it. But he did hear when John called out his name beyond the door. The omega jumped, feeling guilty and horrified when the door opened and John walked in.

"Sherlock, I just wanted to see what you felt like eating for - What are you doing?" John cut himself off curiously when, Sherlock scrabbled to pull down his shirt and reached for the jar of cream set out on the nightstand.

"Don't you knock?!"

"I did!" John exclaimed, catching sight of the jar before Sherlock could hide it, and sudden understanding flooded through.

Sherlock glared at the sympathy in his husband's eyes and he felt far more pathetic.

"Just say it." Sherlock huffed, slamming the jar back to the counter and turning to stare at the side wall.

"Say what?" John asked, as if he didn't know, and that made Sherlock angry.

"That I'm fat! I'm a cow - No, worse, a whale!" 

John bit his bottom lip. God help him, he knew he shouldn't, but then the snort of amusement escaped and Sherlock snarled.

"See! You think I look ridiculous." Sherlock pointed an accusing finger at his mate, his eyes stinging, and he hated himself more for it.

"Hey, shhh. No. Don't be like that." John soothed, hurriedly moving to embrace the trembling omega in his arms. 

Sherlock didn't fight his alpha when John pulled him in close, allowing him to bury his head against his hard stomach. Winding his arms in a sheltering, consuming embrace around Sherlock's head. A hand moved to rake a calming path through dark curls, while his other curved around Sherlock's shoulders and pressed him tightly against him.

"I wasn't laughing at you... Well, I was, but not like that. You're just so adorable. You worry about the most silliest things."

"You are horrible." Sherlock grumbled, nuzzling John's stomach, inhaling deep breaths of his scent.

"You're not fat Sherlock. You're pregnant. There's a difference. Even if you were, you'd still be the most beautiful in my eyes."

Sherlock brushed his face against John's jumper, wiping the dampness that _might_ have leaked, and exhaled away his frustrations. Several more moments passed with John cradling him close and stroking his hair, until John could feel the tension disappear from Sherlock's form.

Pulling away enough so to meet Sherlock's gaze, John palmed his mate's flushed cheek and smiled down at him.

"Better?" 

"Mm." Sherlock answered noncommittally.

John's smile brightened all while he moved to kneel before Sherlock, pressing his way between his mate's legs, and holding Sherlock's gaze, John slowly raised the omega's shirt. Ivory skin glowed in the light, soft faint pink stretch marks carved several pathways along his lower stomach.

"You're beautiful Sherlock. These marks are proof of how you carry my love for you." John's voice was husky and grated in a way that made a shiver run down Sherlock's spine.

Planting a warm hand to Sherlock's oiled belly, John smoothed over the skin, coating it further in the stretch mark remover cream. Sherlock whimpered softly, staring at John's gentle hand and raised his own to cover it. John's hand stilled as he met Sherlock's gaze once more, his eyes were warm and kind. So full of love Sherlock felt overwhelmed.

"Thank you." Sherlock sighed contentedly, his thumb kindly stroking the skin of John's hand. 

"Thank you." John answered back, knowing though Sherlock was struggling, he did it all for him.

"I really want to meet them." Sherlock whispered the confession as if it were a secret meant for only them.

When dark blue sparkled wetly, a sudden burst of feeling filled Sherlock's heart, and in a flash, it hit him fully. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. It was always nagging him, always there in the deepest part of his mind, trying to remain hidden from discovery. Sherlock couldn't hide it from himself anymore.

_Oh no, what to do John? I'm in love with you._

Sherlock's eyes blurred with wetness and swallowing the lump in his throat, he raised his free hand to stroke his alpha's cheek with care. Smiling softly down at his alpha, the first of the tears fell from his eyes. John had won. Sherlock had lost. His alpha had gained his heart with his perseverance. Now, though John didn't know it yet, Sherlock was his. Whatever it was John would ask of him, Sherlock would give it with no hesitation. John would have the happiness he'd always desired.

_I love you... so much._


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock was not a romantic. He was far from it, but today was different. Today he wanted to be a romantic, because John Watson was a romantic. He wanted to give John a night he would never forget, full of grand gestures. In return John would feel so thankful that he couldn't help but to pay Sherlock back with sex. Preferably lots and lots of sex, because Sherlock was in serious need of sexy time with John. He was a hormonal mess, he knew this, and he wasn't proud of it. But with this pregnancy came the constant need for sexual gratification. Sherlock had lost count of the times he'd masturbated on John's bed, alone. 

It had been three days since they'd moved into their temporary townhouse. 221B was not big enough to house them and their litter. Judging from the size of Sherlock, it was going to be a large one. Sherlock and John agreed they needed a bigger place, but Sherlock loved their flat and couldn't bear to part with it. So Sherlock and John made a compromise: with Mrs. Hudson's approval they were renting out 221C and would be restoring it. Breaking down the dividing wall of 221B to house the two flats. All in all, their new flat would house six bedrooms, two and a half baths, three sitting areas, one dining room, and one kitchen. The contractors told them it would take them four months to finish everything. 

Sherlock reminded himself daily that this townhouse was only temporary, and that soon they'd be back to their real home, and out of this suburban-like setting. For the meantime, this home would have to do. Sherlock could appreciate the quietness of the neighborhood, the fact they had a beautiful terrace, and the quietness would help with the whole romantic mood he was trying to set.

Sherlock almost felt like a fool, having spent hours in the bookstore reading 'how to romance your partner' books, but he was positive they'd help. So Sherlock followed the directions. He'd set the mood; lit red and white long candles filled their temporary home, red rose petals lined the entryway and led a trail to the dining room where more petals covered the set table. A small bouquet of red roses was the centerpiece. A bottle of champagne was placed on ice at one end of the table. A CD of today's greatest romantic hits was on. The music played softly in the background as Sherlock gave the room a once over, being sure nothing was amiss, and then he smelled it...

"Oh no." Sherlock hissed, waddling inside the kitchen adjoining the dining room. 

"Hell!" Sherlock cursed at the sight of dark smoke seeping from out of the oven and threw open the latched door, releasing more smoke. 

The casserole he'd set to bake was in flames, crackling and hissing char. Cursing further, Sherlock grabbed a towel nearby and attempted to put out the casserole. Some more cursing and slapping of casserole later, Sherlock was standing in the middle of the kitchen glaring at his destroyed meal. His clothes stained with crusted food. He couldn't even bake a simple casserole. How the hell was he going to get sexy time with John when he couldn't even-

"Sherlock!" John's panicked cry rang out.

Sherlock tensed, freezing where he stood as understanding and failure overtook him. John had arrived back from work, making perfect time, entering the smoke filled home of disaster.

"Where the bloody hell is all this smoke coming from?"

By the time Sherlock set his soot covered towel on a nearby counter and turned to face the entry of the kitchen, John was there. Panicked dark blue surveyed the room, taking note of the mildly smoking casserole, and then Sherlock. Anger lined the alpha's features, but no words came. Sherlock cringed inwardly, knowing that John was too angry to even voice his thoughts, which was by far worse than if he started yelling.

Sherlock bit back a whimper when the alpha grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him out of the kitchen, past the set up dining area, and out to the terrace. The fresh air hit Sherlock with a rush of pleasant coolness.

"Stay out here while I air out the house." John ordered, grasping a hold of Sherlock's shoulders and pushing him down against one of the cushioned chairs. 

Sherlock mutely watched as John entered the home once more and began opening every window, before disappearing inside the kitchen. The sound of dishes clanging and water running could then be heard, and Sherlock felt like an utter failure. 

All Sherlock wanted was sexy time with John. Was that too much to ask for? Apparently it was, since Sherlock couldn't even bake a bloody casserole without starting a fire. Blinking harshly, Sherlock focused on calming his breathing. He wasn't crying. It was the smoke that made his eyes water. And he certainly wasn't sulking, because he wasn't a sulker!

...

Sherlock was too preoccupied with wiping away the irritation from his eyes to see that John had joined him. Not until the alpha groused out his name with barely-contained anger.

" _Sherlock..._ " John began, standing in front of the omega, arms crossed over his chest, breathing deep breaths, attempting to stem the curses that so wished to be dispelled. "What. Were. You. Doing?" 

Sherlock lowered his hands and glared at John, just as furious. Not at the alpha, no, he was angry with himself. He was a terrible excuse for an omega. It was the job of the omega to cook and clean, to care for their alpha, but John had taken on those responsibilities since they married. Sherlock had only wanted to do something nice in return. Woo his mate and convince John how wonderful it would be to give him a good loving in the sheets. 

Inhaling a trembling breath, Sherlock blinked back the remaining wetness, and turned his head to stare out at the railing of the terrace. 

"I'm an idiot for even trying to cook for you. I should never have done something so foolish. I'm a failure. Happy? Now, please leave." Sherlock mumbled weakly, damning his hormones that blurred his vision. He must look like a complete imbecile to John.

 _Sherlock had been baking for me?_ John's brows knitted together in thought. 

Glancing through the double doors, over the omega's head, John finally started to take in his surroundings. He'd been so distracted by the sight of gray smoke he hadn't been looking for anything other than Sherlock, then he'd noticed the burning food. All he could think about was getting Sherlock away from the smoke and cleaning up the mess. 

Now though, John saw the dining room, decorated, and heard the softly playing love ballad. 

" _Sherlock_." John rasped, breathlessly, the sight of red roses making his heart clench with feeling. 

"I know. I'm a horrible omega. I know, okay. Please go." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the alpha. John wasn't looking away from the omega now. 

_This... Sherlock did all of this for me?_

"You're not an idiot, nor are you a horrible omega, Sherlock." John comforted, his anger vanishing with understanding. 

Kneeling before the omega, John planted his hands on Sherlock's knees and shook him there, attempting to catch his attention. Sherlock's chin wobbled, his head turned up over John's line of sight, and when he sniffled John felt an unsettling churn in his stomach.

"Hey, don't be like that." John cooed kindly, raising up partly, until he raised up high enough to be on eye level with Sherlock, their faces mere inches from one another that, Sherlock _couldn't_ look away.

"Thank you. I can see the thought of your actions. I'm sorry the meal didn't come out the way you wanted, but the dining area was beautifully decorated."

Sherlock glared - John's attempts at pacifying him were not appreciated. 

"You were angry."

John laughed, cupping the omega's pouting face, finding the way those lips puckered the most adorable of sights.

"I was angry." John admitted. "Only because I wasn't here to cook for you and instead you were left in a smoked filled home. I was worried about you."

Sherlock's silver eyes slanted away from John's piercing gaze, though he couldn't turn his head with John cradling his head. Swallowing past his nerves, Sherlock decided if John wasn't angry with him and could look at him with love, maybe he could be honest about his intentions.

"I wanted to woo you."

The vibrant laugh that filled the air made Sherlock's heart swell and he found himself looking back at the alpha and watched as dark blue eyes twinkled with mirth. 

"Really? You really were trying to woo me?" John voice was full of disbelief and joy. 

"Don't act so agreeable. If I knew you were this easy, I'd have settled with a compliment and be done with it." 

"Oh Sherlock." John sighed and without thought leaned in, pressing his lips firmly against Sherlock's nose. Reeling back, John met wide silver eyes, smiling wildly when Sherlock's mouth parted in a voiceless, 'Oh'. His pale features darkening red and John leaned back again, pressing a kiss to each warm cheek. 

Pressing his forehead against Sherlock's own, John giggled when the omega sighed shakily. 

"I want sexy time with you, John."

John lurched back at Sherlock's declaration, hands falling from Sherlock's face. He stood in absolute shock.

"You what?"

Biting into his bottom lip, Sherlock searched John's features. Attempting to find anything other than disbelief, something that would give him a hint whether he was asking for too much. If so, he could make up an excuse and bolt, but he found no such hint. So he continued.

"I... I want sex. Lots of it." Sherlock didn't need a mirror to know that his face was most assuredly blazing red.

John's jaw dropped, mouth hanging open like a simpleton, but he didn't speak. The longer the silence continued the more Sherlock found the need to fill it.

"I know this might not be the way to say it, but I want to have sex. I... I tried reading books about how to set the mood and I... I tried to be subtle, but that didn't really work, so... I really need it. John? Can we at least try? I... I don't know how to really... I mean there was our heat, but that was more instinct than anything else, and I might be utter rubbish at it, but I promise to get better. We can practice and if you find that I'm lacking, I could go to the store and buy books. That should help. I think? I'm sure I will learn ways to please you, so-"

"Shut up." John demanded, though there was no malice in his words. In fact John was smiling from ear to ear. 

"John?" Sherlock pled. John seriously needed to let him know if he wanted this, or if he wanted to never have this conversation again.

"Yes, Sherlock. God yes!" 

Oh, that was good. More than good. Wonderful. Blessedly wonderful, because Sherlock seriously needed John to fuck him. Now.

"John... There's something I should say. I meant to say always, but never have..."

John blinked, patiently waiting.

"I love you." 

_Oh, bloody hell._ That wasn't how he planned on confessing. He wanted to wine and dine John. Romance him slowly. Although music played in the background, his deliverance was lacking the finesse he'd imagined in his head. But there it was. His stupid mouth and hormones too impatient to make grand gestures and romance John into his confession. 

Sherlock held his breath as John stared on in a daze.

"God... I hope I'm not dreaming." John whispered to himself, but Sherlock heard him.

"You're not dreaming. I love you, John. I've loved you for a long time, but I was just too stubborn to admit it to myself. It... It's terrifying, but unbelievably thrilling to say it. I know you love me, and I just wanted to confirm that I love-"

Sherlock shut up. Not because he wanted to, but because John had surged forward. Clamping a hold of his face, John dived down and claimed his lips with his own, and - _Jesus!_ \- that was John's tongue shoving its way beyond his lips and slackened mouth and - _Oh! John!_


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock shut his eyes, his hands shot out to grasp a hold of John's arms and held tightly to him. Moaning deep within their kiss, John's hot tongue dragged against the roof of his mouth - _Oh God_. It felt good. Breathing heavily into their kiss, Sherlock experimentally met John's tongue with his own. 

_Wet_. 

Logically, Sherlock knew kissing would be wet, but the saliva of the two mixing, smacking so loudly he could hear the noises, made _him_ wet.

John groaned, scenting Sherlock's response. 

"Jo-" Sherlock keened, unable to get much more than that out as the alpha leaned heavily against him, pressing him further into his seat and devouring his mouth entirely. 

_God John, it's yours. My mouth, my heart, my body - All yours._

Sherlock squirmed in his seat, his heated wetness becoming unbearable. John's scent was changing, the sweetness was being drowned out almost entirely by the heavy musk of - _Oh!_ \- pre-come. So much of it.

"Mm!" Sherlock moaned happily, stroking his thumbs over tense biceps. One of John's hands slipped from his face to stroke the roundness of his belly. Voiceless appreciation and love for their children, unfurl something within. Sherlock wanted more touches like that!

John broke their kiss with several short wet pecks, the last a suckle of Sherlock's bruised bottom lip. 

"I want you." John expressed darkly, half-lidded blue staring at him in wonder.

"Take me." Sherlock replied, willing, and ran his hands up John's arms to his shoulders and squeezed with desperation. "Take me, John."

John closed his eyes and groaned with want before his lips were back on Sherlock's; his strong arms wrapped under Sherlock's, pressing urgently as his back and helped lift the omega up to his feet.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed excitedly, wrapping his arms around his alpha's broad shoulders, and kissed him.

Gripping to Sherlock's fleshy hips, John stepped back and Sherlock followed, never breaking contact with those delicious lips. John led them slowly back into the home and in the direction of his room. John's room, where his scent was sure to make Sherlock crazed.

When John's knees hit the edge of his bed, Sherlock broke their kiss and pressed the alpha down. John sat himself on the bed and stared up at his husband.

"Wait here." Sherlock asked and stepped back further. 

John watched, lusting for the omega that took hold of his belt and unclasped it in slow measured movements. Silver eyes staring back at him with so much trust. John felt his heart soar. 

" _How to Woo Your Partner_ , Chapter Eight: Seduction. Option one: Strip-tease." Sherlock explained, a quiver of a smile at the corner of his lips. The omega was nervous and John couldn't see why. Sherlock was a vision.

" _Ah-fuck_ , are you beautiful." John whined, needing to prove it, and palmed the bulge in his pants, unabashedly stroking himself as he watched Sherlock unbutton his pants. 

Sherlock didn't unzip himself though; pausing momentarily, he bit his lip and stared at John contemplating. 

"What is it?" John wondered when Sherlock's hands shakily moved to the collar of his shirt.

"I... Is it okay if I keep my shirt on?"

John stared at the omega's slight blush and the way his eyes lowered part shame.

"No. I want to see your belly." John answered, catching onto Sherlock's hesitancy.

"But..."

"Your beautiful belly, I want to see it." 

Sherlock's lips thinned with disapproval at the request, but nevertheless, the omega obeyed and worked open the buttons of his shirt. Each new skin being revealed made John shiver in want of seeing just how his husband looked now in his new body. John had only seen bits and pieces of Sherlock since his pregnancy, but It excited him to see just how large his Sherlock had become.

Sherlock's defined cheekbones were round and soft, and nearly always flushed with the great work it took him to move about. Sherlock spread open his shirt, revealing himself fully to John's sight and - 

John shivered, stroking himself with more firmness.

Sherlock's belly was tightly stretched to house their litter. Pale flesh so round, each soft sway of his hips caused his belly to swing side to side, taunting John. Sherlock's chest was still taut, his nipples pale and peaked with excitement. John wanted to suck them. He wanted to kiss Sherlock's belly and run his tongue over the pale red stretch marks winding their way at his underbelly. 

Sherlock unbuttoned his wrists cuffs and shrugged off his shirt before moving to stand in front of John and reached out to balance himself on the alpha's shoulder's. Raising up a leg, Sherlock set his shoe onto the side of John's outer leg and arched a brow.

John took the voiceless request and hurriedly unlaced Sherlock's leather shoe and carefully slipped it off. Tossing it to the side, John was able to remove his omega's sock with ease. Sherlock placed his bare foot on the ground before offering his other shoe to the other side of John's leg and the alpha made quick work of baring open that foot too.

Sherlock smiled with silent gratitude, being unable to bend over to do it himself without losing the grace of his strip tease. Stepping away once more, Sherlock's cheek's turned dark red as he moved his body. The music from the dinning room could still be heard from the bedroom. It matched the tempo of Sherlock's sensual dance. His hips rocking softly, rolling appealingly. His hands stroked the flesh from his neck, down his hard nipples, to his belly.

John growled hungrily, gripping himself tightly, watching Sherlock stoke his belly again when he deduced just how much John liked it.

"Look what you did to me, John." Sherlock husked, cupping his under belly, his other rubbing the dome.

"Mm." John shivered, biting his bottom lip, and quickly worked at removing his own clothes. 

Sherlock paused to enjoy the view. Taking pleasure as each part of John was laid open to his sight.

When John was finally bare of his clothing, he sat once more at the edge of the bed and took himself in hand. He was so hard, his monstrous cock flushed at the head, glossy with pre-come. Stroking at the head, John ran his fingers down the rest of his cock, slicking it up.

Sherlock stuttered mid-dance as he watched John use both his hands to stroke at himself, further dampening his member in the musk of his pre-ejaculate. Swallowing heavily, Sherlock kept at his seduction.

"Option six: Dirty talk. I'm so heavy, John. Look at my feet. Look. I can hardly walk more than an hour without my soles aching. Do you know how sore they will be once I finish dancing?"

John laughed, smiling brightly.

"No? Not dirty enough." Sherlock gathered from the alpha's response. 

John's smile widened and he shook his head, 'no.' 

Sherlock frowned and deliberated how best to go about dirty talking with his husband.

"Oh!" Sherlock smiled and tried again. "I dream about you, you know?"

"You do? Seriously?" John wondered if Sherlock was sincere or playing a role.

"Yes. Honestly. I really have dreams about you. A lot of them are rather... sordid." 

"Mm. Tell me." One of John's hand's gripped at the base of his cock while his other stroked gently at the head.

"I dream about kissing you."

"Mm."

"I dream about tasting you. I've never... tasted myself and I never care to but, I want to taste you."

"God!" John stopped touching himself and pushed back further onto the bed. Crawling back until his back hit the headboard, John spread his legs and began fondling his balls with one hand while his other stroked at his inner thigh. 

"Can I, John? Can I taste you?"

"Yes. You can taste me. I want you to taste me."

"I want you to taste me too. Will you?"

"Yes."

"I want you to taste my cock."

"Yes. I will."

"I want to come in your mouth. Will you swallow? I would swallow your seed."

"Fuck!" John gripped his bollocks tightly, the vulgarity of Sherlock's words were going to drive him mad. "Don't say things like that."

Sherlock smirked moving closer to the edge, positively delighted with this discovery.

"Swallow me? That is."

John pressed the heels of his feet against the bed and caught more pre-ejaculate with the palm of his hand to dampen his cock further.

"Right now, I want to feel your thick fingers in my omega hole. I want to soil your hand in my slick. Then I want the tip of your cock to plug my omega hole. I'm going to leak all over it. Make your cock reek of my slick. Just the tip though. I don't know if I could take the whole thing right now."

"Come to bed, Sherlock." John moaned, pulling at his sack holding back his climax. Removing his hand from his cock, John settled for caressing his bollocks with one hand while he used his other to play with his nipples, one at a time. Flicking them, pinching them, and pulling at them. 

"Will you hold me close and tell me how beautiful I am while your round head loves my hole? Will you fuck me gently, but firmly? Will you come inside me? Make me drip with slick and spunk. I won't be able to hold your seed, because I'm already full of it John. Do you realize that? We're going to soil your sheets with slick and come because you've already seeded me."

"Sherlock, get on the bed!" John demanded, stilling his touches and leaning forward with an outstretched hand.

"Does that mean I succeeded with my dirty talk?" Sherlock bit off a laugh, palming his belly with satisfaction. 

John was sexually frustrated, annoyed with his omega's teasing, but he smiled tightly nevertheless. "God yes. You've seduced me. You did wonderfully. Now please get over here, so I can fuck you."

Sherlock blushed deeply and looked away.

"But I haven't finished my teasing. I have one last surprise for you."

John swallowed audibly, wanting to know, and yet, unsure how much more he could take. Regardless, he would take it. God, he would take this surprise. He wanted it.

"Okay."

Sherlock began dancing again, his hands gliding from his belly to play with his zipper. Slowly, ever so slowly did Sherlock unzip himself and then he gripped the waistband of his slacks and... Biting into his bottom lip, Sherlock drew his slack's down and let them pool at his feet. 

Embracing his stomach while he swayed, Sherlock stared up expectantly. 

A heavy growl traveled out from deep within John's chest, all as the alpha desperately gripped the base of his cock. Sherlock, his beautiful, devilish Sherlock wore nothing but frilly pink laced panties. His cock made the prettiest little bulge beneath the crotched lined fabric. John's cock gave a wanting jolt at the sight. A conspicuous amount of slick had developed and soaked through Sherlock's panties, leaving the entirety of the crotch darkened in stains of both sexes.

"Option nine: Sexy Lingerie."

"Come here." John ordered, because if Sherlock didn't come to him now, he was going to go over to Sherlock and fuck him at the edge of the bed. 

Sherlock could see the urgency and didn't dally, waddling over to the side of the bed. John knew how insecure Sherlock felt about the way he'd waddle from time to time, but - _God help him_ \- John found it unbelievably exciting to watch. He loved the way Sherlock couldn't walk quickly without hitching a mild waddle. It had started near the fifth month of pregnancy. How Sherlock couldn't see John's daily struggle not to pin him down and have his wicked way with him, was beyond John's understanding. 

Having Sherlock practically begging him to sleep with him was startling and a bit sad. Sherlock was so bloody gorgeous, he shouldn't have to beg for what John would so willingly do, for himself just as much as for Sherlock. Therefore, it was saddening that Sherlock couldn't see it. John would prove it to Sherlock now. He'd show him, with his words and body, just how much he desired him. 

John sat up on his knees and took Sherlock's outstretched hand and helped his omega onto the bed. Sherlock let out a deep breath of contentment when he settled down onto his side on the bed. Much like always, Sherlock didn't realize how tired his body was from the day's activities until after he lay in bed.

"Feel good?" John asked, settling himself beside his mate, chest pressing against Sherlock's back all as he wrapped an arm around part of the omega's extended waist.

"Mm. Hold me close." Sherlock spoke, turning his head to stare up at John.

John moved closer, until every part of him was hard-pressed against Sherlock's larger frame. Leaning on a bent elbow near Sherlock's back, so he was leaning upright, high enough to meet Sherlock's gaze without having his mate crane his neck too much to still see him. 

"God are you beautiful." John stated breathlessly, stroking a rough hand over the smoothness of Sherlock's stomach.

"You're beautiful too, John." Sherlock murmured shyly. How someone who'd just been talking dirty could blush like a virgin was a delightful surprise.

"Really?" John was more than a little surprised, since Sherlock hadn't ever really paid compliments to his looks before. The alpha watched as silver eyes flashed with shame at his inquiry.

"I'm sorry John. I... think a great many pleasing things about you, and find most of them I don't say aloud when I mean to, and sometimes think I do."

"I know, I just... Really? You think pleasing things about me?" John found that so hard to believe. Shuffling so his legs pressed behind Sherlock's own, John nuzzled the temple near him, before nosing feather-soft curls. 

"Mm, yes, John. So many pleasing things." Sherlock nuzzled the underside of John's chin, crooking an arm out so he could run his hand kindly up and down the length of John's arm that rested against the side of his belly.

"Tell me." John whispered, secretly wishing to hear some of what it was Sherlock thought of him, because he so wanted to see himself through Sherlock's eyes.

"You are strong. I like... I like when you carry me. I like feeling your muscles flex against me."

"I knew you did." John hissed humorously and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple and cheek, pulling back enough to look into his eyes and hear more.

"I like that... Your smile. It's... nice." Sherlock's eyes met John's then lowered to stare at the hand stroking his belly, and slid his hand down John's arm to layer itself over his stomach and they stroked it together.

"I like your smile too."

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement of that compliment.

"I like that you can cook, because we both know I can't."

John bit his tongue, refusing to laugh even when Sherlock let out a soft giggle. 

"I need you to care for me, because I don't, and I love you for that."

"Sherlock." John exhaled with feeling.

"I love your strength. I love your mind. I love your patience. I love how you will always take my side with my horrid family. You are... You are more than I deserve and I... I love that you still stay will me even when I don't make it easy." Sherlock's voice clipped at the end, getting overly sentimental and John realized it was painfully hard for Sherlock to tell him all of this, but he was because John had asked it of him. John shouldn't have, it was clear Sherlock loved him, but admitting to all these things was making him feel vulnerable and open. John didn't need anymore. This was enough to last him a lifetime. Sherlock could tell him he loved him - that was all he would ever need to know. The rest Sherlock could think of him and keep safely within his Mind Palace.

"Shhh. It's enough. Thank you." John comforted and Sherlock laughed, delighted when John sprinkled insistent kisses all about his face. 

"John that tickles." Sherlock giggled merrily as John kissed his exposed ear. 

"You're a right horror." John snickered against the shell of Sherlock's ear and nipped at it, feeling flirtatious. 

"You're no better." Sherlock shot back, eyes crinkling pleasantly, face warm with love as they looked at one another jubilant.

"I love you, Sherlock." John affirmed what they both know to be truth.

"Mm. That's nice." Sherlock grinned.

"Horror! You won't say it back." John mocked hurt.

"Not when you call me a _horror_ John." Sherlock hissed with narrowed eyes and John barked with laughter.

"I rather like it. It suits you." 

"Then what shall I call you in return?" Sherlock pondered.

"Love?"

"I think not."

John sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Any pet name Sherlock wished to call him was more than welcome, because it was proof of his endearment. 

"I'll think it over. Now, John, may we please..." Sherlock held John's gaze all while he led the alpha's hand low, down the underside of his belly and to the wet crotch of his panties.

" _God yes_." John moaned. His hand rubbing about the pink lace, feeling his hand dampen with heated slick.

Sherlock shut his eyes and leaned his head down onto his pillow. Twisting his upper half to lay back on the bed, he kept his waist and legs turned to the side and hummed with enjoyment. Losing himself to John's hand stroking at his hardness through thin lace. 

"Feels good."

"You feel so wet. I didn't think you'd be this..."

"I haven't... touched myself in the last week, been reading and preparing for tonight. I wanted to wait for you."

"Stop with the dirty talk." John whined.

Sherlock smirked with amusement. John's ideas of dirty talking differed from his own. 

John took hold of the edge of the panties. He needed to get them off. He wanted so much to feel beneath the lace.

"Don't." Sherlock whined. 

"You want to... With them on?"

Sherlock had read the statistics on couples who did such things it bed, and apparently it was highly preformed. There had even been testimonials on how much alpha's liked to watch their omega's soil their underwear while being pleasured, and Sherlock wanted to please John.

"Yes." Sherlock slurred his 's', arousal coursing through his veins. 

" _Jessus_." John cursed, and hurriedly dragged his hand lower and tugged the panties lining Sherlock's entrance to one ass cheek. 

Rough fingers were all at once stroking his wet hole. Running along hairless swelled flesh, soft to the touch, blazing pink. Sensitive. Sherlock's entrance was so sensitive and John knew this, the deviousness of those fingers playfully running along it was proof enough.

"It looks so different." John whispered to himself more than to Sherlock, but the omega heard, and a part of him grew worried. 

Was he not appealing in John's eyes anymore?

John raised his gaze to meet Sherlock's with one of amazement and seeing the question in silver blue, the alpha explained. "It's open. Since I took you that first time... I can see you aren't..."

John was blushing and so was Sherlock. Groaning with embarrassment, Sherlock ducked his head in his pillow and muffled out an audible, "You can't say lewd things like that!" 

"Sorry! I just didn't really look at it after we were first together and I didn't know it would look... I'll shut up." John ducked his own head at the nape of Sherlock's neck, sharing his pillow and pressing apologetic kisses to his neck all while delving his index finger within wet heat.

Sherlock hummed in the pillow, shutting his eyes, and sought the feel of John's ministrations. Slow and gentle, his finger slid in and out, his entrance contracting around the intruding finger, enjoying the stroking. If felt foreign - though they'd done this during his heat, it was a change. 

Sherlock never touched himself here. This sex was only John's. It was made for John's fingers, his cock, and (Sherlock hoped, one day) John's mouth. Sherlock had rather enjoyed reading about how partners would share themselves in that way. Alphas _never_ tasted their mates. They believed the act to be below their status. From the way they'd spoken earlier, John didn't seem to care. Sherlock suspected it was because John was a submissive alpha. Submissive alpha's were ferocious and protective of their mates, but in bed there was no hierarchy. It was a union of equality for them and Sherlock would forever be grateful John was his.

"Sherlock." John sighed against his skin, adding his middle finger and scissoring them. Stretching and contracting against the nervous clenching of Sherlock's channel. 

"Let my fingers move, Sherlock." John insisted and Sherlock took measures to relax his nervous clenching. 

"That's good. Just like that. Mm. You smell delicious."

"I smell like slick and you. Does that excite you?" Sherlock teased.

"You know it does."

"I like it. Smelling like you."

"Such a minx. I want to shut that mouth up." John's lips trailed around Sherlock's neck, along the curve of his jaw, near his chin and ever closer to his lips.

"Do it! Or else I'll keep saying naughty things, such as: Your fingers feel rough, scratching across my most sacred of places. If you go too deep you'll feel my womb and where our children- Mm!" Sherlock smiled triumphantly when John's lips sealed over his own and turned his neck enough to meet John's halfway.

Lips parted, delicately drawing it's counterpart between their own in a wet suck, then took to loving each other's tongue and delving from one mouth to the other. Sucking and tasting. 

John's ring finger filled him then and set about stretching Sherlock's entrance more so than the previous digits. Sherlock felt the coolness of John's ring rub at his rim with every inward thrust and moaned at the knowledge he'd marked John as his with that ring. 

Sherlock's thighs slipped against John's hand, squirming as he did and being as wet as he was, there was no helping it. The omega's body was more than ready for the alpha. John's cock was a magnificent work of art, hard like marble, grooved veins pulsing angrily around the entire circumference of his extensive length. Sherlock needed John, right this instant. His slick had prepared him for this. 

Breaking their kiss, Sherlock raised a hand to grip at John's wrist of the very hand working him open in preparation of taking his tree trunk of a cock.

"I need you." Sherlock gasped, his mouth feeling wet from their kisses, and no doubt were bleeding red. "I need you. John. Right now." 

John looked just short of being unhinged and gave a hurried nod. "I need you too. You can take it, yes?"

"Yes. I can take it." Sherlock reassured, raising up his left leg as John shuffled his lower half so he was tilted upward and nudged his thighs more securely around Sherlock's legs. Sherlock pulled up his right leg under himself and reached around John to grab at the unused pillow and shuffled it under his belly and partly between his legs.

"I'm going to put it in."

"Don't tell me that. Do it!" Sherlock snapped impatiently, wrapping his arms around his belly while turning enough so that his upper half faced John.

"Okay." John chuckled breathlessly and grasped a hold of himself with one hand while his other held the back end of pink panties wide enough to make room and then the bulbous head of his cock was pressing into his entrance.

"Come on. Do it." Sherlock growled his challenge, because John should have been fucking him so long ago. He never should have been doing anything _but_ , and when Sherlock was done with him, he'd be milked completely of his seed, until all John could shoot was dry.

"I am!" John reassured, rocking his hips up and entering the tip of himself inside and shut his eyes as his mouth parted in a voiceless cry. 

"God, you're inside. I can _feel_ you."

"Sherlock, stop the fucking dirty talk already!" John complained, collapsing heavily onto the bed beside Sherlock and wrapped his own arms around the omega's belly.

"Sorry." Sherlock shut his eyes and lowered his left leg to rest it against John's bent knee, balancing it there as John nuzzled him and gave soft thrusts of his tip in and out.

Sherlock entrance only housed the tip of John's cock, yet he already felt full, stretched to the brink as that globbing cock head soaked in pre-come stained his insides. 

Sherlock felt so slick and his cock gave a jolt with the thought of how he was disgustingly soiled. But it felt so good to be sloppy with the juices of three sexes. Sherlock wanted to be dirty. He wanted to be soaked in his slick and his come, in John's come. He wanted that every day of his life. He wanted to reek of sex, not just any sex, but sex-with-John. He wanted everyone to know he'd been thoroughly fucked by his alpha. So there was no question that although he was pregnant, he was still desirable to his mate.

"I'll fuck you into submission if you don't stop with the damn dirty talking!" John snarled harshly against his cheek and thrust a bit more than the tip inside, before Sherlock even realized he'd said all of that aloud.

"Oh!" Sherlock liked the idea of that. He'd never saw himself submitting to anyone, but being _fucked into submission_ sounded good. His cock dripped an obscene amount of pre-come all as his entrance gave a greedy squelching squirt of slick.

" _Yes. Fuck me into submission. I deserve it. I'll submit for you. God, I'm a slut for your cock. John!_ " Sherlock's voice made a noise he didn't even know it could make. A mixture of a whimper and shivering whine. It sounded purely animal.

"All of it? You'll take it all?"

"Yes."

John's arms tightened around his waist all while sucking at a cheek bone and he gave a forceful punch of his hips, shoving all of that tree trunk in him. The wind dispelled from out of Sherlock's lungs and for a moment he forgot how to inhale. John drew back until the very tip of his cock was hardly left within, then shoved back in, slow and _firm_. Sherlock coughed out air and gulped it back in, eyes wide in wonder, staring up at John when the alpha pressed their foreheads together and stared into his eyes.

Again, John drew out to the very tip than came back in gentle and rough all at once and- _OH!_ Sherlock felt the press at his womb. Not hard, a soft nudge at it and fuck. Sherlock's belly gave a roll and the omega whimpered, the babies were moving and John kept coming. Lighting fire between his legs. His cock was fluttering, straddling the line of full on bliss. His entrance quivered around the girth of John's cock laying waste to his sensitized hole.

"Too much?" John growled, ramming into him so good Sherlock was soaking the alpha's bollocks with his want. When John's bollocks began slapping wetly against his own small sack, Sherlock gave a full body shudder.

"Ooh." Sherlock's fangs broke out as a piercing keen tore through his throat and he shot out an arm to reach for John's ass. Gripping to the muscular buttocks as tears brimmed in eyes. His mouth opened, panting out shaky breaths. Eyes struggling to stay open and staring up into those twinkling dark ones.

"Good?"

" _Yes!_ " Sherlock whimpered pitifully. 

A kiss placed at his nose was John's reply.

"Come like this. Come with my cock. Just my cock." John commanded and Sherlock was helpless, he'd do it for John. 

Sherlock arched painfully against the bed, his left leg swinging out beyond his control with every pound of those solid strong hips of John's. An incoherent noise escaped his lungs, as his body fell to chaos, a swarm of sensations destroying him from the inside, setting his loins to burn with a near explosion. 

Scrambling for a better hold, Sherlock gripped John's left ass cheek and held vice-like to him. John let out a harsh grunt, but didn't complain when Sherlock's claws tore into flesh. Though his body wanted to fight against the building tantalizing feeling, Sherlock yanked John harshly against him, _inside of him_ , and still felt unable to find purchase from the pleasure warring within. 

John's thrusts came, leaving no space to gather himself, his mind was becoming a chaotic place. No longer bringing him sense of ease or clarity. It was senseless. He was losing everything, but this. The feelings John was giving him. 

" _Ahh fuck_." John grunted, hips giving a noticeable stutter, the alpha near ready to blow himself.

"Don't stop. Please. Please? I'm so close." Sherlock began begging because that was his purpose. He was to beg, because John had fucked him into submission. He was a pile of begging flesh. "Fuck me. Use me. I need it. I want it."

"Shut up!" John snarled. Sherlock and his dirty talk was going to make John come first.

"Please, please, please!"

"I will. Jesus. Just shut up." John raised out a hand to cup Sherlock's face, his other gripping to silky curls and holding fast as he rutted into him with far less care. 

"John!" Sherlock screamed with the change of pace, rocketing him so fucking close to the finish line. 

John heaved his hips with more roughness than he intended, and when he rammed back in again, his cock struck Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock sobbed out, his tiny cock leaping beneath pink lace and slapping against fabric with each hard thrust that came after, striking his prostrate with unerring accuracy 

Sherlock's eyes clenched shut, because it was too bloody much. He was trembling continuously, his chest huffing heavy breaths. Releasing his belly with his other arm, Sherlock scrambled to grip to the bedsheets below them and clawed at them with a shaky fist. 

"Look at me." John's demand rang out beyond the slapping of flesh and heavy panting.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, lips parted wide, breathlessly gasping as he watched the pleasure dance around John's face. John's eyes squinted in pained bliss, fangs protruding from his mouth bit into his own bottom lip and Sherlock groaned at the scent of John's bitter blood. So arousing. Unbelievably arousing. 

"Sherlock." John rolled out his name through the roughness of sex and that was all it took. Sherlock's body gave a jerking shudder, his eyes strained to stay open as he gripped to sheets and John's ass and his orgasm took him. 

"Good. Come on me." John crooned, moaning the moment Sherlock's entrance gave way to spilling more clear slick.

Sherlock whimpered, pressing his head harshly against the pillow under him as his cock pulsed within snug lace, dampening him further in his seed and slick. 

Raising his head up, Sherlock watched John's tendons strain, veins popping and strumming along his neck as he gave a heavy grunt followed by a long, deep groan, his cock spasming within. Sherlock shut his eyes then and enjoyed the moment as his insides filled, dampening in the wetness of his alpha's heat. 

Only when John gave a weak sigh and his body slid to his side did Sherlock open his eyes and smile happily at the alpha. John gently pulled himself out of Sherlock's wet hole, and adjusted the panties until they cupped Sherlock's ass correctly, at the same time stemming the flow of John's seed. Keeping it within Sherlock for a little while longer. Huffing with exhaustion, John rolled onto his back, left leg switching off to his right, bent in order to help keep Sherlock's left elevated.

Sherlock and John lay exhausted lumps on the bed, and attempted to catch their breaths. Sherlock couldn't stop smiling like a loon and when he saw John in the same predicament, he giggled. John turned to look at him and gave way to his own giggles. The two lay there like lovesick fools laughing.

"I think you broke my pelvis, John." Sherlock teased and John rolled his eyes.

"It wouldn't have been my fault if I did." 

"No? Guess it was the dirty talk then."

"You guess? It _was_ the dirty talk!" John laughed harder.

"But you liked it?" Sherlock had to ask again, he didn't want to have taken it too far, though he didn't think he had, but he could be wrong.

"Ah hell! Give me a break."

"John?"

"You are remarkably good at it. Don't do it again until after you give birth. I don't think I can take it and not ravish the hell out of you."

"You're being ridiculous, John." Sherlock giggled.

"The hell I am!"

...

They fell into a contented silence, smiling kindly at each other. John's hand moved to grip Sherlock's near him and fondly stroked the pale knuckles of his mate, and felt the hard smoothness of their wedding ring.

"Give me another moment of rest and then I'll clean us both." John said finally and Sherlock gave a nod of assent. 

...

Sherlock thought of all the things he'd love to do with John as the alpha caught his breath and knew what he really wanted to try next.

"Once you clean us both up, can you eat out my omega hole, John?"

" _Christ, SHERLOCK!_ "

  



	20. Chapter 20

Pale fingers dug into the sheets, gripping tightly. Trembling legs parted further, strained at their limit. Heels dug into the bed all while a chest fluctuated with erratic breathing. Moaning deep from within his chest, Sherlock pressed his head further against the pillow, his belly blocking his view of John. But he could still feel him.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut, his lips parted in a voiceless gasp as rough hands pressed at his sensitive inner thighs, pushing them wider, all so the alpha could devour him. John did. Sherlock was being eaten alive and it felt amazing. Why hadn't Sherlock let himself have this before? He was an idiot. An idiot who'd deprived himself of this beautiful wonderful thing called sex. 

Soft blond hair tickled his thighs as John's hot wet tongue slid in and out of his omega hole. Lips parted, teeth grazed his opening, and then there came a sucking, all while John's tongue dove back in and filled his hole. Filled and sucked at, slurping up the slick that freely gushed out of him. 

"Mm John." Sherlock moaned excitedly, attempting to thrust up, but his lower back protested against the action. The folded pillow supporting his lower back could only do so much, but Sherlock wanted more. 

John's mouth was suddenly gone and in its place came the harsh blowing of air. _Sensory overload._ Sherlock squirmed, tugging the sheets from the bed, creating a mess around them. One leg jerked, sliding down the bed before he raised it back and in place, keeping himself open. 

" _Oh!_ " Sherlock whimpered at the sudden feel of a mouth sucking up his small bollocks, the alpha's heated tongue rolling them in his mouth, before humming around them- _John was a Pagan sex God!_

Sherlock gave a full body shiver, nails lengthening and in the next moment the sound of sheets tearing was heard beyond the sucking and panting. 

"Oh John, _you are naughty!_ " Sherlock could hardly believe just how good John was at this. 

John gave another hum, the vibrations sending an electrical current straight to his bollocks. The stirring of impending climax rising, building, setting his body into a tense knot of anticipation and want.

" _Dirty mouth. Doing such dirty things._ Oh John, you filthy wonderful man!" Sherlock exalted, enraptured. 

Sherlock wanted to reach out and touch John. He wanted to hold his head and shove him onto his tiny cock, make John suck him up and roll his tongue around his whole length, but Sherlock felt fat. He could hardly curl himself upright without giving way to laborious panting. 

It would seem John Watson, among being a sex God, was also a mind reader, as John finally, _finally_ , turned his sights on his pale cock, and took it all in one moaning swallow. John sucked his cock in three effortless bobs, the rough end of his tongue rubbing hard against the sensitive underside and Sherlock screamed. Voice pitchy and full of surprise as his balls drew up and he was coming in John's mouth embarrassingly fast. John swallowed his cock greedily, took all of his release and happily groaned, as if Sherlock tasted delicious. 

Sherlock sobbed, his legs helplessly winding around John's head as the alpha shoved two fingers into his omega hole and fucked him ruthlessly, milking him and strengthening his orgasm. Forcing Sherlock to ride his fingers in clumsy undulations and lay helplessly as John devoured his cock. 

It was _too_ much. Too much pleasure. His body wanted more of it though, and all he could do was try not to strangle John with his clamping thighs, ill attempts at thrusting up, and cock seeding his mouth.

Each harsh wave of bliss left Sherlock breathless and feeling out of his skin. John driving him through it. Sucking, fingering him through all the spasms of delight taking over his body, until Sherlock's cock gave a dry jolt, emptied, and his omega hole loosened around the fingers inside of him. 

Sherlock's eyes were still shut and his hands still gripped the bed spreads as John muscled his way out of Sherlock's clamped thighs. Sherlock, panting weakly, shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, felt his legs fall open in an inelegant sprawl. 

"You look good." John groaned at the sight of his sweaty debauched omega.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and smiled lazily up at his alpha. John's bottom lip was sucked into his mouth, his fangs bare, evidence of the alpha's own desires. John looked at him much like a starved wolf looked at its prey. Sherlock wanted to be John's prey. He wanted John with an insatiable need. Sherlock didn't plan on leaving their home for the next week - he'd even threatened Lestrade if he dared to call him for a case. That was how much John meant to him. John was more important than any case and that proved just how deeply Sherlock loved him.

"Come here and kiss me. Please John? Come here." Sherlock pled, unbelievably exhausted, though he hadn't done much of anything.

John carefully moved himself over Sherlock, hands pressed as the sides of Sherlock's head, his hard stomach against Sherlock's protruding belly and slowly leaned down and kissed him.

For a moment Sherlock's lips stuttered against John's own, having not realized that by kissing his husband now he'd be tasting himself. But the momentary surprise left soon after John's tongue did a fascinating swivel around his own. Sighing into the kiss, Sherlock tasted himself, the bitter tang of his releases and a flavor that was singularly John's. 

Groaning happily into the kiss, Sherlock released his hold of the sheets and cupped John's head, drawing him closer, deeper still. One of John's hands stroked his stomach with love, his other remained where it was, supporting and balancing himself over Sherlock.

Sherlock wanted more. He wanted to taste John, not himself. Breaking their kiss, Sherlock peppered several messy ones to John's cheek and jaw, before laying himself back onto the bed, feeling comfortable where he was.

"I want to taste you, but I can't lay on my stomach and I can't get on my knees. I... If you sit on my chest and balance yourself on the headboard I could do it." Sherlock spoke honestly, because he wanted this.

John's brows rose, eyes widening with surprise, but then they turned dark with lust and a feral growl rumbled from deep within the alpha's chest.

"What did I say about the dirty talk?" John playfully admonished, but he was already rolling off of Sherlock and shuffling up to one side of him.

"Come here." Sherlock encouraged, tapping over his chest and John, smiling, did.

John lifted one leg and pressed it at one end of Sherlock's chest, while his other dragged up and closer to the other side. Gripping the headboard with both hands, John bowed his head to look at Sherlock. Groaning deeply as he watched Sherlock reach out for his hard neglected cock and hurriedly guided it to his mouth. 

Sherlock took a hesitate lick at the smooth head. That taste was strong, salty bitterness, his tongue overwhelmed by the musk. It was a surprise, and yet Sherlock found that he liked the bitterness that filled his senses with the strong presence of alpha. It was wonderful, enthralling, made him squirm with the knowledge he was tasting John’s pure essence. He wanted more. 

The flavor of John’s sex drove his omega wild, made his sensitive omega hole spasm wantonly, wanting to be filled and fucked. Sherlock was horny all anew. God, Sherlock couldn't get enough of John. He was going to milk John dry, and then beg for more of John's cock.

"Taste so good. John." Sherlock keened, sloppily giving kitten licks to that round bulbous head and hungrily swallowing away John's pre-come.

"I love your cock. So beautiful. You taste like alpha." Sherlock desperately moaned, mouthing the head in a messy wet kiss, rolling his tongue and catching more pre-come.

"Want you to fuck me. Make my omega hole sore and red, soiled." Sherlock shivered, a pleasant wanting chill ran through him. He wanted to taste John, have him fuck and bruise his mouth, but he wanted to be filled again.

John groaned low, head bowed, watching Sherlock feast on his cock like it were ambrosia, and shuddered. Canting his hips, he shoved his head in Sherlock's accepting mouth and sighed shakily as a heated tongue slurped up more of his pre-come. 

" _Jesus_. You have a dirty mouth."

"Mm, soil it John. Stain it with your seed. _Then. Fuck. Me._ " Sherlock growled and John let out a string of curses, his hands gripping tightly to the headboard as he let out a startled cry and came in a sudden rush.

Sherlock's eyes widened with surprise, and he quickly sealed his lips around the edge of the bulbous head as his tongue licked and sucked gently. Moaning lewdly as John's seed gushed out of him and filled his mouth. Sherlock swallowed greedily, taking all of John's love eagerly.

Raising his hands up, Sherlock gripped John's ass cheeks and yanked him closer, taking more of John's cock, gagging as he adjusted to the fullness of a little more than the head, and exhaled shakily from his nose.

John's ass clenched in his grip as he spurted his release in large pulses, until he finally went lax, and Sherlock licked up what remained. Pulling back, John withdrew himself from out of the omega's mouth and shakily moved off his body to lay himself at his side, embracing him warmly.

" _Love_." John rasped, planting a chaste kiss to his lips before licking away a bit of his own release that managed to slip past Sherlock's lips and stained his chin. Sherlock hummed pleasantly at the action and rolled onto his side, facing John.

Wrapping his arms around John's shoulders and throwing a leg over a hip, Sherlock unashamedly humped John's hip with his small cock and dampened his thigh with his wet omega hole.

"Need you inside me." Sherlock urged.

Sherlock was whimpering for it and John tightened his hold on him, dipping his head to scent his husband.

"Give me a minute, I just came." John huffed, voice rough with sex and want of it.

"No, John. _Now._ " Sherlock whined. He didn't want to wait.

" _Ah hell. Impatient sod._ " John hurriedly shoved two fingers inside the heat of Sherlock's omega hole and fucked him with hard, jerking thrusts.

"Going to, just wait." 

Sherlock hummed, appeased with John's rough fingers, rocking his hips against John's hand. He'd fuck John's hand until his alpha was hard enough to fuck him with his cock, because Sherlock was a slut for it. He told John as much and enjoyed the pained whine of the alpha submissive. He deserved to be teased and he'd keep teasing him, in the hopes it made him harden faster so that they could fuck, because Sherlock was hornier than a rabbit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock lay on his back, a rumpled mess on the bed, skin flushed, wet with sweat and sex juices, grinning like a loon, while John was sprawled on the other side of him, panting heavily, attempting to catch his breath.

" _Christ_." John choked out in amazement, smile never wavering.

"Mm." Sherlock stared in a daze at the ceiling, suffering from thoroughly-fucked-itis. 

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Sherlock giggled and glanced over to an equally debauched John.

"God, yes John." Sherlock exclaimed in agreement.

He was so happy. Drunk on sex and grinning from ear to ear. 

"Blimey!" John couldn't say much else but curses, as Sherlock hadn't let the alpha have a moment of rest. They'd been at it for hours. 

"Sex is wonderful. John. So very wonderful."

John stared at Sherlock like he'd lost his mind and maybe he had. Laughing uproariously, Sherlock giggled along with the alpha.

"I didn't think you'd be so amorous."

"Well, I've been neglected by my alpha." Sherlock answered gravely.

"Have you? I didn't realize I was neglecting you." John smirked playfully, rolled onto his side and reached out to palm one of Sherlock's sex-flushed cheeks.

Sherlock's eyes darkened with seriousness, "Oh you have John. You've been irresponsible." 

John chuckled and fondly moved to mouth at Sherlock's jawline.

"I'm sorry love. I must compensate you, but how to do it?"

"Oh, I can think of a few ways." John didn't have to look at Sherlock to know he was grinning happily.

"Just a few?"

"Well... Maybe more than a few." Sherlock amended.

John hummed, voicing thought, and suckled at the omega's flesh, pressing his pelvis into Sherlock's side.

"I'd particularly like to try something called reversed cowgirl. I read about sexual positions for pregnant omegas and I think I could do it if I leaned forward on your knees and rocked instead of bounced on you cock."

" _Fuck you_." John cursed, because Sherlock was being unfair with his dirty talk. 

"No, John. That's your job."

Sherlock let out a surprised yelp as John rolled over him and stole his mouth in a hungry kiss that the omega ardently returned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was shining brightly, the birds were chirping songs of early morning, and Sherlock couldn't stop smiling. He was insanely happy, Sherlock couldn't help it. John was a wonderful alpha and he'd given him a good loving all night long. By the time the sun was rising from the horizon they'd collapsed and fallen asleep.

Sherlock would have enjoyed spending another few hours in his alpha's arms, nose shoved against his scent gland and smelling his mate, but his mobile rang insistently. Sherlock begrudgingly answered it and then was asked for his assistance on a case by Lestrade. 

Sherlock declined, telling the D.I. he was on Sex Holiday and would be unavailable for any case for a week at the very least. He intended on spending the next week getting his fill of all the sex he'd declined himself, because he wanted it and needed it. 

Still, after his phone call, Sherlock thought it best he restock their food supply as they were running low and he wanted to make sure that before he started back on his Sex Holiday, they had supplies to last. So Sherlock left a slumbering alpha in bed and hurriedly went grocery shopping.

He felt so domesticated and loved it. He had it bad, but he didn't care. Love changed people, and he liked the person John made him. John brought him warmth and joy, so why should Sherlock fear this change? 

He quickly stocked up on food. Since he wasn't much of a cook and didn't know what groceries to buy to make a full balanced meal, Sherlock opted for buying frozen pre-made food, four batches of bananas, and called it a day. Waddling back home and discarding the grocery bags on the kitchen counter before hurrying back to their bedroom.

Beaming at the still slumbering alpha, Sherlock made quick work stripping his clothing and slipped into the bed. Wrapping his arms around John's waist, he buried his nose against the alpha's scent gland. John shifted in Sherlock's arms, sighing sleepily before tucking his head deeper in his pillow and Sherlock shut his eyes. 

They had a lot of sex ahead of them. For now Sherlock would rest up, when he woke next he'd like to try riding John's mouth with his omega hole.

  



	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock didn't like cats. Never had. They were too small. They had evil eyes. They purred, which was bloody strange. They were friendly and then they weren't - or so that was how the cats in his neighborhood as a child were like. 

He did like dogs. Typically dogs in the hound or retriever family. There was Redbeard, his first and only pet, and he'd loved him greatly. After Redbeard's loss, Sherlock hadn't wanted another dog. Even now it caused him an ache in his heart to even think about replacing him.

Walking down the rows of dogs within a pet store, Sherlock was unable to choose a pet. It was a Holmes tradition. Before Mycroft and Sherlock were born, his mother had gone and gotten them a dog of their own. Mycroft was gifted a cream colored borzoi and Sherlock was gifted a red Irish setter.

After Mycroft and Sherlock lost their pets to old age they didn't ask for another one. They'd grown up and bonded with their dogs. In the end, they hadn't seen their dogs as just _dogs_. No, they'd become family and their loss was deep. But even through their loss, Sherlock would never forget or regret having Redbeard. 

Sherlock wasn't sure how many pups he was having, but he'd since learned after his first visit with the gynecologist he was having both sexes. Sherlock didn't think he could buy each pup their own dog as their home would be overflowing with children and dogs. Not unless they moved to a bigger home, which Sherlock wasn't yet ready for.

Eventually they'd have to, or so that was what John believed. Sherlock wasn't sure about that. He'd been thinking about the future and was currently formulating a new plan. He'd talk about it with Mrs. Hudson after he'd given birth. Mrs. Hudson was growing older, she was rather lonely, and she would need someone to take care of her in a few years from now. Sherlock wouldn't mind buying the property from Mrs. Hudson with a large enough amount she wouldn't need to work for a living anymore. He'd then convert the building into a large enough house for all of them. Mrs. Hudson was family, but Sherlock would rather die than tell her that to her face. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Plus, she'd prove to be a sufficient babysitter for his pups when he and John went out for cases. It was a thought he was slowly considering more and more as a sure possibility. This way he'd never have to leave Baker Street and John would be content. 

That didn't matter right now. Right now he was to choose pets for his children. When they were finished renovating their home, it would be large enough to house two dogs. Looking at all the dogs surrounding him, he was filled with memories of Redbeard and it made Sherlock feel partially guilty. Though he reminded himself that he wasn't buying a pet for himself, he was buying them for his pups. 

Two puppies caught Sherlock's attention. They both shared a large glass box with five other puppies. One dog had a red nose, was a multi-colored puff ball, sprinkled in gray, black and brown, with large chunks of white. Its eyes were a shocking blue. The other puppy was a honey brown dog, with a black saddle back and floppy long ears, black nose with a long snout, and sad dough-brown eyes.

They were obviously not of the same breed, but Sherlock didn't care. His instincts told him these were the ones. They sat well-mannered on their hind legs, their tails wagged slightly when they made eye contact with him, but they weren't wiggling and panting for attention for just anyone. The dogs he chose for his pups needed to be cautious of strangers, but not altogether aggressive of their presence. Protectors like Redbeard had been to him.

Moving closer to the glass box, Sherlock raised out a hand and lowered it down a ways from the pups. Both followed his moments closely, and after a brief pause the two rose from the group of five that all at once started licking and hopping near the edge.

These two dogs came, gave his hand a few sniffs. The multi-colored one gave his knuckles one lick, while the honey brown one nudged his hand before seating himself near the edge, and a moment later the multi-colored one did the same. 

Sherlock smiled. Yes. These two were it.

"Excuse me, can I help you sir?" one of the female workers asked as she approached him with a smile.

"Yes." Sherlock turned to face her, stealing away his smile, "Yes you can."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sherlock!" John barked.

Sherlock was currently setting up training pads for the dogs when John's voice rang out through the home. John had come earlier than Sherlock intended for him to. Waddling out of the hallway and into the living room, he was met by the sight of a confused John. 

The alpha stood against the front door, staring wide eyed at the two dogs currently sniffing his shoes. 

" _What. The. Hell?_ " John asked of the omega, the moment he realized Sherlock had entered the room.

"John, meet Australian Shepherd and Bloodhound. I have yet to name them, so I've decided to call them by their breed names for now."

John blinked up at him, mouth parted slightly, yet words did not come forth. Sherlock knew that look. It was a look John gave him when Sherlock surprised him so much he was stupefied.

"Why- You- What?" John floundered, palming his mouth and rubbing at it, as if to make his mouth work properly, when it obviously wasn't.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, feeling peeved that John always needed him to explain the obvious. There were dogs in their home, a large dark blue blanket was set up against the wall of the front door, a bowl filled with dog food and water set a few paces away from the one of the dog beds he'd set up in the home. Why couldn't John see that!

"I bought pups for our pups. It's Holmes tradition."

John stared on in silence.

"John?"

"I heard you." John sighed, removing his hand from his mouth to instead run his fingers through his hair. "You are a complete nutter, but I hear you."

Sherlock scowled at the insult.

"Sorry. You just surprised me is all. It's not always a bad thing."

"So this surprise is a bad thing?" Sherlock determined worriedly. He really didn't want to take the pups back.

"Yes... No. Sorry, it's not. It's just... couples usually talk about this sort of stuff before going out and doing anything."

Sherlock's brows furrowed. "I don't understand. You like dogs. At New Scotland Yard station, you're always petting the officers' dogs and sneaking them treats you bring when no one's looking."

"You saw that." John smiled shyly. His hand moving down to the back of his neck and kneading the muscles and he lowered his eyes to the ground as if he'd gotten caught doing something he shouldn't have. Sherlock found it quite endearing a sight.

"I see everything you do, because I'm almost always watching you." Sherlock answered flirtatiously. He'd learned flirting was a sure sign for a healthy relationship in one of the many self-help books he'd read.

John's cheeks flushed and he looked up at Sherlock, stunned at the confession. 

"You _know_ I look at you." Sherlock snipped.

"Uh... No, I didn't."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to feel heat rise to his face, for mistakingly divulging a unknown truth. "Well I do."

John grinned toothily.

"So... You're not mad?"

"About you looking at me when I'm not looking at you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. 

"No, about the dogs."

John laughed at his foolishness, at not keeping up with Sherlock's thought process. "No. Just surprised, like I said earlier. Two dogs then, there's not going to be anymore popping up from the corner is there?"

Sherlock smiled and shook his head no.

John glanced down at the dogs who were seated near his feet, looking up at him. 

"Hello there." John greeted the pair of them.

Australian Shepherd's tail wagged and Blood Hound's tail thumped against the wooden floor when John kneeled down to scratch each behind their ears. Their snouts intercepted John's hands, giving him several sniffs before allowing him to pet them.

"Haven't picked out names yet. Were you waiting for me?" John glanced up at Sherlock from where he was kneeling on the floor.

"Yes, I was. I wouldn't name our children without you, so how could I name our pets without you?"

John's face softened with love and Sherlock found himself helpless at the sight of it. Needing to be near his mate, Sherlock stepped over to the three members of his growing family and raised out a hand to cup his husband's cheek in his hand.

"Sherlock?" John asked, because whatever was written on Sherlock's face was undistinguishable.

Sherlock felt a great many things right now. He was happy, touched, overwhelmed with love for his alpha, needing, but above all else, he was undeniably horny.

"I want to name these pups, including the ones you've given me to carry. But right now, what I want most of all is to have you roll me on my hands and knees, scratch my back with those tender hands, and fuck me until I'm a pile of sweat and sex juices." He might be jealous of the attention John was showing the pups, but he was pregnant. Of course he could be greedy of his alpha's affections.

John choked on spit and groaned miserably, releasing the dogs of his attention and rising to stand before the omega.

"You're hornier than the most horniest of teenagers, do you know that, Sherlock?" John mumbled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist and drawing him against his chest. 

Sherlock's blush deepened, but he felt no shame for desiring his alpha's body, preferably his lovely cock.

"You've made me this way. That beautiful cock of yours is always on my mind. I can't get enough of it." Sherlock was dead serious, so he took great offense when John laughed at him.

" _Hey,_ don't be like that. No pouting love. I'm just so surprised you can say those things as easily as others would talk about the weather."

"But it's easy to say, because it's true."

"Mm." John hummed, leaning in and nudging Sherlock's nose with his own. "I like it, though this dirty talk of yours should really stop, or else I might be rougher than you want."

Sherlock moaned lewdly, his omega hole contracting with the thought of it.

"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep." Sherlock whined, shifting to nuzzle the alpha's cheek and inhaled a deep whiff of his scent.

"Oh, I meant it."

"Then make me gush that cock of yours with my slick as you fuck me good and deep."

" _Sherlock_." John snarled, jerking his head back, tilting it to the side and captured Sherlock's mouth with his own, in a dirty wet kiss full of carnal pleasures to come.

  



	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock was eight and a half months pregnant and looking more and more like a whale. To be specific a blue whale. They were the largest of whales and right now Sherlock felt like he had those whales beat.

"I am!" Sherlock cried out with annoyance, because no matter how John liked to sugarcoat it, he was in fact an _exceptionally_ large pregnant omega.

"No, you aren't." John approached Sherlock cautiously as the omega struggled to put on his maternity trousers. They no longer fit.

"I can't even fit in my _maternity_ clothes, John! I bought them one size bigger than I needed, and now the blasted things won't fit. _Nothing fits anymore._ " Sherlock's voice wavered, his chin trembled, and he angrily blinked back the wetness in his eyes. 

_Damn hormones!_

" _Hey_ -"

"Don't start! Don't comfort me. Tell me the truth. I can take it. I'm a whale."

"Shhh." John stepped towards Sherlock, breaking the distance, and brought him into a tight embrace.

Sherlock frowned in John's loving arms. John's embrace was warm and made him feel just a _fraction_ better. 

"Shhh." John hushed, pressing his nose against Sherlock's scent gland, inhaling him, all while letting his alpha pheromones fill the room.

" 'Thar she blows!' said everyone." Sherlock grumbled, trying not to smile when John laughed warmly.

"You are pregnant, Sherlock. Your body is changing, but we're almost at the finish line."

Inhaling John's pleasing scent, Sherlock shut his eyes and nuzzled against his mate's neck, wrapping his arms tight around John's waist, and exhaled all of his frustrations. John was right. He'd just go shopping again and buy more clothes. 

"I hope they all come out like you." Sherlock spoke aloud, before he could stop himself. That he had not intended on divulging, though it wouldn't be terrible if John knew.

John gently pulled away from Sherlock and raised a brow in question.

"I just mean..." Sherlock lowered his gaze to stare at John's chest and slid a hand there to stroke at the hardness behind a brown jumper. "It'd be nice to have pups who were as patient and understanding as you."

Sherlock chanced a glance up and found the warmest smile on John's face, his eyes expressing how touched he was by his confession.

"Wouldn't hurt if they had that adorable dimple." Sherlock mumbled and John broke out into surprised laughter.

"God, Sherlock. I love you." John sighed lovingly and raised his hands to frame Sherlock's pudgy cheeks.

"And I you." Sherlock smiled broadly.

"Come here, love." John urged, insistently tugging Sherlock's face near and claimed his lips in a firm kiss.

"You taste sweet." John said, licking his lips after pulling away from their kiss.

"I might have eaten some apple pie." Sherlock confessed, feeling guilty whenever his sweet cravings flared.

"Nothing wrong in that dear."

"No. I guess not."

John stared at Sherlock knowingly.

"How bout we make ourselves a plate and watch crap telly for the night?"

Sherlock beamed down at John and nodded.

"Pie ala mode?" Sherlock asked hopefully.

"Even better." John answered and sealed their agreement with another kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was in a dangerous situation and he needed help. He was eight months and three weeks pregnant and John wasn't here to save him. Well, that could be remedied, and Sherlock hurriedly dialed for the alpha.

"Sherlock." John answered distractedly, no doubt in the middle of work. 

"John, come home." Sherlock's voice tinged with panic. 

There was shuffling on the other end and a curse. "Are you okay? Is it the pups?" John rushed worriedly.

Sherlock paused, maybe he should have come right out and said it. Of course John would think it was about the pups and the omega quickly made to reassure his husband that their pups were safe.

"No. Our pups are safe. It's my mother. She's here in the living room waiting to take me shopping for our pups. I refuse to shop with that woman. I'm in the bathroom and I won't come out until you come here and drive her away."

Sherlock waited for a response, but there was a long silence that filled John's end - no doubt he was relieved that their pups were safe. Then a bark of laughter filled the alpha's end.

"Firstly Sherlock, don't call me and make me worry like that. Secondly, it's your mother. Tell her no."

"Have you met her?"

"Yes."

"Oh hell, John. Come home. I don't want to go shopping. I'll be gone the whole day if I go with her."

Sighing heavily, John spoke, "Give me a moment. I'm going to put you on hold and I'll call her."

"Okay." Sherlock waited.

Several long moments came and went before Sherlock heard shuffling from John's end.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"I told your mother we made plans to shop together for our pups, she won't take you shopping. Now, would you please get out of the bathroom and go talk with her?" John laughed happily on his end.

"Okay." Sherlock grumbled unhappily. He'd still have to hear his mother talk about what he needed to do for their pups. Sherlock was more than capable of raising his pups without her input. 

"I talked to Sarah. I'll be home in an hour, okay?"

Sherlock felt a lightness fill his heart at this new found knowledge. John was coming home early.

"I had to promise dinner out with you and your mother, to get her to drop shopping with you." John had the dignity to sound slightly apologetic.

" _John_." Sherlock moaned unhappily. That meant watching his mother fawn over his mate and snobbishly boast that she was the best matchmaker. 

"It was either that or you being stuck shopping with your mother."

Sherlock glared at the ground, discontent. 

"You're terrible, John."

"Oh, don't be like that love."

"You are." Sherlock sighed dramatically. "The only way I'll forgive you is if you kiss me fiercely tonight."

"That I can do." John growled playfully.

"On my omega hole." Sherlock added with a devious smirk when the alpha inhaled sharply. "See you home, John." Sherlock rushed and quickly hung up. He giggled to himself as he finally unlocked himself from out of the bathroom and went to see his mother waiting for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was ridiculously happy. Everything was going perfectly in his life. He had a job he loved, experienced a good dose of adventure working cases with his husband, and had the love of a mate he could treasure his whole life.

John and Sherlock currently lay in the bed together, under the sheets, Sherlock rested over his chest, head on John's shoulder. Sherlock held him tightly in his arms, his large belly resting partly over John's side. 

Staring sleepily at the ceiling, John tenderly stroked the pads of his fingers through dark feather-light curls and massaged his omega's scalp. 

"John?"

"Mm?"

"I want every day to end like this." Sherlock smiled into John's skin, kissing the scar on his shoulder with kindness.

John smiled and made a noise of agreement.

"I'm sorry for being such an ass in the past."

"Good to know you knew you were."

"Shut up." Sherlock pinched the skin near John's rib in retaliation and the alpha chuckled softly before amending.

"Sorry. Forgive me?"

"Well... Just this once." Sherlock agreed.

"I love you."

"I love you too, John." Sherlock shuffled closer, nearly laying himself completely on John, but the alpha didn't complain about the additional weight and smiled brightly as Sherlock tightened his hold on him.

"Goodnight love."

"Goodnight, John."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything was wonderful, and so when it all went wrong, John couldn't bear it.

Sherlock was stuck at NSY station filling out paperwork for a case. The consultant had whined about it to John on the phone when the alpha called him to find out where he was. It wasn't usual for Sherlock to be out when John returned from work. Not since Sherlock was pregnant. The omega stayed home more often than not because of his pregnancy. The cases he went to solve lately weren't as dangerous, as John had asked it of him. Just until Sherlock was physically fit to take on more dangerous ones. Right now, they had their pups to think about. 

When there was a knock at his door, John rose from his chair to open it. Sherlock was a lazy sod since he'd become pregnant. Not that he hadn't been before, just now he was more so. Refusing to be bothered to unlock the front door, and making John open it for him. John let it go, deciding to indulge Sherlock's laziness because he _was_ carrying a rather large litter of pups for them.

"Welcome home, dear." John greeted lovingly, opening the door, but froze when he realized it was not Sherlock beyond the door.

Victor Trevor stood before the alpha, staring emotionlessly at the alpha. 

"Victor." John gasped. 

"Hello John. Can I come in?" Before the alpha could respond, the omega boldly shouldered past him and entered the home.

John turned to watch the omega closely. Victor moved to the living room, seated himself on a couch, crossed his legs, and tossed a folder onto the coffee table before leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

John could yell at the omega. Tell him he had no right to barge into his home and make himself comfortable as if he was welcome, but John didn't. He'd wronged this omega greatly. Caused the man much grief and pain. 

Victor would not have come if he did not have something to say. He deserved to curse the alpha for what he'd done. John would hear him out. This, he knew, Victor had every right to do.

Shutting the front door weakly, John unknowingly left it ajar, and slowly moved to stand across from the coffee table and waited to hear the omega's condemning. 

"How's married life treating you? Seen the magazines. You two look like the perfect couple. Going on dates after a case, celebrating your accomplishments, flaunting it to the whole world." Victor mocked.

John sighed deeply, but said nothing. Victor was hurting because John had foolishly led the omega on, though he'd thought he'd made himself clear to Victor that he wasn't looking for a relationship. He shouldn't have befriended Victor when concealing his personal life.

"I know you're hurting Victor. I'm sorry I caused it."

"I don't want your apologies. I came to ask you something." Victor spoke with less bite and more care. A care he'd once used when they were friends.

This surprised and confused John. The omega's eyes softened with that of his tone. He looked at John with pained love and that startled him speechless. 

"Take the folder, John." Victor asked of the alpha.

John glanced down at the coffee table, weary of opening it, but feeling completely out of place. Knowing nothing, he moved closer and retrieved it.

"Read it." Victor urged and John, briefly pausing to stare into those expressive eyes, did.

The blood slowly left John's face. His hands grew weak, trembling. Unable to hold the papers in hand any longer, he watched them float to the ground. 

_His secret... Victor knew._

"You don't love him, John, right? This marriage it has only ever been an agreement made with Sherlock's brother to save your sister's life." Victor spoke desperately and John finally understood why Victor looked at him like that. Victor had hope that John might not love Sherlock and might actually have feelings for him.

"H- How did you... get these?" There was fear in John's voice because Victor could destroy his marriage with this information. He had to know how the omega was able to find this information.

"I hired private detectives. One found the safety deposit box under your father's name and brought me the marriage contract." Victor explained, and as John stared on without a word, the omega rose from the sofa and rounded the coffee table to stand in front of the alpha.

" _John_." Victor spoke lovingly and raised a hand out to palm the stupefied alpha's cheek.

"I understand everything now. You didn't want this, did you? You only married Sherlock because you needed to save your sister, but you were trapped into this union and you couldn't get out of it after bonding. You said you like me. You like me, but you can't betray your union with Sherlock because of biology. I'm right, aren't I John? I don't care if we can never be intimate like that John. I love you for you. I... We can still be together."

Victor's other hand moved to palm the other side of John's face, and cradling his head, he stared up at him with a silent plea to accept this. John swallowed thickly, beyond the fear of Victor's realization about why he married Sherlock, he felt sorrow for the omega. Desperate to find love and always choosing the wrong alpha. 

Raising out his hands, John palmed the omega's hands caressing his face and before he could remove them there came a loud thud. Both John and Victor turned their heads in the direction of the noise and found their answer.

Sherlock Holmes stood at the doorway. A Mexican take-out bag lay on the ground. John's heart constricted painfully as he met tear-stained silver eyes and felt as if his world were crumbling.

"No." John whispered, shoving Victor's hands away from his face and taking a step in Sherlock's direction. "No, no, no." John husked at the look of betrayal that filled the very eyes of the man he'd fallen head over heels for.

Sherlock sucked in a sharp inhale of breath and a hand shot out to palm his stomach as he curled in on himself.

"Sherlock!" John cried out with worry and rushed to his omega. Before he could lay a hand on Sherlock, the omega raised another hand up to bid John not touch him.

"Sherlock. What is it?" John pleaded at the look of fear in his omega's eyes.

"My waters broke." Sherlock spoke shakily. His eyes looking everywhere but at the alpha or omega.

John's eyes lowered and stared down at the floor around Sherlock's feet. A pool of clear liquid surrounded him.

" _Oh God_." John cursed.

  



	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock didn't know what to do or say. He felt like a bumbling fool. Staring at _that_ omega touching _his_ husband. He wanted to lash out with cruel words and smarting ridicule, but Victor was talking and as he spoke he revealed hidden secrets. Secrets Sherlock hadn't perceived. 

Was Sherlock so blinded by his feelings for John he'd overlooked signs of his deception? As he brought up memories of their time together, little things began to spark curiously. Slip ups, strange word usages, looks, all of it. Sherlock _had_ been blinded. From the very beginning, since he first scented John and the alpha willingly wished to marry him, he'd been blinded. 

In the deepest parts of himself he'd been stunned and a little flattered that John wanted him. Someone _wanted_ him for him. No one had ever wanted him or appreciated him, not until John. Now, he hurt. Sherlock hurt deep. Within himself something gave to excruciating pain at the realization that it had all been a lie. John _hadn't_ wanted him. 

_No._

John had _needed_ him to save his sister's life - from what, he wasn't sure. Mycroft had deceived Sherlock into believing John found him through the matchmaking service. John had deceived him with his false love. Mycroft's lie was to save Sherlock's life. John's lie was to save his sister's life. 

Sherlock had been duped and fell hook, line and sinker for it. He'd been used and how John must have suffered. How John must have felt disgusted with himself for having to touch, kiss, and ~~make love~~ have sex with Sherlock. 

_Oh. He doesn't love me... He was playing a role._

Victor Trevor - now he was the perfect embodiment of an omega. Beautiful in the eyes of all alphas, so of course John needed him in his life. Having Sherlock asking him to stop seeing him must have been difficult for John, because if it hadn't been for his sister, John might have been able to mate with someone like Victor instead of Sherlock.

Sherlock was a consolation prize. A burden placed upon the alpha submissive for his sacrifice for his sister. That was all it was. 

The thudding of the take out bag caught the couple's attention and then they were both looking at him. Victor with annoyance. John with shock. Of course. He'd interrupted their reconciliation. 

Sherlock wanted to leave. He would have left, but then he felt a sharp pain and then wetness, and he knew. 

Everything began moving quickly from then. John was retrieving their pre-made go bag and arguing with Victor. Victor didn't want to leave and John was telling him that he couldn't talk to him right now. John demanded Victor leave, but then he promised to contact him and Sherlock understood why. John had been upset that day Victor came to 221 B and left in tears. John hadn't wanted to lose Victor, now that he was back he still wanted him, but Sherlock was in labor and needed help. John was ever the considerate doctor. 

As they sat in the back seat of a cab, Sherlock focused on his breathing, wet eyes shut permanently in a desperate attempt to shield the tears of heartache. Rubbing his belly, Sherlock ignored John's pleading to listen to him.

_What you walked in on, isn't what it looked like. Victor might love me, but I don't have those feelings for him. I love you Sherlock, no matter how we came to be together, I love you. Only you._

There was more, but Sherlock couldn't remember it. The pain of contractions was coming quickly and it was all he could think about now. 

They made it to the hospital and John tried to help Sherlock out, but Sherlock still refused to be touched by his alpha and ignored his outstretched hands. He got out of the cab and seated himself in a wheelchair as a nurse came to meet them. 

_Mycroft must be watching and had prepared everything._

They were quickly led to a room and there, and only there did Sherlock finally speak, directing his words to the nurse.

"I want to be alone. No visitors. No one." Sherlock had said, his voice tight, restrained of anything but authority in his demand. 

"Sherlock, _please_." John pleaded. 

Sherlock didn't look at the alpha and the nurse had to awkwardly attempt to remove John from the room. John could have easily fought off the omega nurse, but he didn't. Pitying his own omega and his wish, John answered Sherlock's request and left the room.

Sherlock could still hear John's footsteps outside of his bedroom door, and he himself couldn't lay himself in bed, no matter how many times the nurses urged him to rest and wait. Sherlock paced the room thinking, stroking his belly and contemplating everything. All that had happened and what was to happen now. 

Sherlock's senses were ever strong and he scented as John's scent was joined by Mycroft's, then his mother and father. Still, none of them came in as he'd requested it of the hospital. Every so often his assigned doctor would enter and than he would be forced to lay on the bed and allow the woman to check and see how far dilated he was. 

The doctor didn't think it would be a long wait, as he was dilating quickly. She'd mentioned that he was a little early for delivering, but that the babies should be fine, as it wasn't premature. 

Sherlock took that small form of comfort in a time where he felt completely out of his depth. When the doctor finally announced he was ready to start pushing, Sherlock was alone and scared. There was the doctor and two nurses with him, but Sherlock felt alone. 

The first push was startlingly painful and he strangled out a horrified scream, cursing himself for not taking the epidural, but he didn't want to risk drugging his babies. He opted for natural birth, though now he was seriously reconsidering his choice, as he still didn't know how many pups he was having. 

The second push, hurt worse than the first. Each push after proved more difficult and hard to endure. Breathing was suddenly a confusing complex act; he stuttered in his breathing and stopped pushing altogether, sobbing through the pain and glaring at the doctor who encouraged him to keep pushing.

"I can't." Sherlock gasped out, face flushed and covered in sweat.

"You can. Just a bit more." the doctor said, eyes focused between his legs and at the crowning head. 

"John." Sherlock gritted out. Angry and hurt, but needing. He _needed_ John. He still loved him, even with his deceit. He couldn't do this alone. "Get John. I need my husband."

The nurse he'd ordered to keep everyone out met his gaze let out an exhale of relief. Smiling, she ran out of the room to get his mate. Omegas did better when near their alphas when delivering. 

John was there in seconds, sprinting into the room and to Sherlock's side. His hands shot out and cupped his heated face and Sherlock sobbed brokenly, looking up into John's equally wet eyes and whimpered pitifully.

"I can't do this, John. It hurts. It hurts so much."

" _Shhh_ , love. You can do it. I know you can. You're the strongest person I know. Breathe with me and push. I'm here and I won't leave you."

Sherlock needed to hear that right now. He needed to feel wanted. Needed to believe John still loved him.

"Push, Sherlock." John encouraged, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, cradling his face, pressing his cool forehead against Sherlock's temple, while he laying a hand over his pounding chest.

Sherlock raised out a hand and gripped tightly to John's arm and inhaled a deep breath before pushing, crying out mid-push as he felt his omega hole stretch tightly.

"Keep pushing." the doctor ordered and Sherlock did.

"That's it, love. So strong. You are doing beautifully." John's lips brushed against his temple as he pushed. 

Sherlock gave another hard push and gasped when the pressure around his omega hole vanished. A small bundle wrapped in a cloth raised up with the doctor as she stood from her stool and smiled at John and Sherlock.

"It's a boy." The doctor told them and offered him up to one of the nurses, who took him off to the side to take care of him as the doctor seated herself back down.

"Now, you're going to have to push again." the doctor said and Sherlock whimpered weakly. He didn't know if he could keep this up, but God help him he had to. 

"Come on, love. You can do this. I know you can." John urged encouragingly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight. Eight children. Healthy, wailing non-stop pups. Sherlock gave birth to each one, didn't forget a moment of the pain of labor, but at the end of it all that wasn't what mattered. The difficulty of labor paled in compassion to the beautiful wiggling pups. They were all beautiful, ranging in weight, but all healthily plump - thanks to all those cravings and over indulging. Even with a premature labor, his children had been fully developed.

The first seven had been all boys and the last, a girl. The first three boys were omegas. The girl was also an omega. The other four could end up being beta, alpha, or submissive alpha, but that wouldn't be known until the children developed their own scents. Right now they carried Sherlock's and a neutralized scent, something nearing woodsy. But as they grew and matured Sherlock and John would learn what their status was. 

Sherlock and John hadn't talked much. John had cheered him on, encouraging and comforting Sherlock as he pushed each pup out. Then Sherlock was so focused on meeting each one of his babies; holding each long enough to kiss the small noses and rosy cheeks, nuzzling their downy head, and murmuring how perfect they were before handing them back to John, so that he could receive the next one. By the end of it, Sherlock was so tired, he could hardly keep his eyes open staring at the oddest of their pups. All the boys looked so much like himself, with dark curly thick hair, strong cheekbones, and upturned noses, but the last looked just like John. Sandy blond hair and a bridged nose much like John's. Sherlock willingly let John take her from his arms and drifted off to sleep. 

Later, the hospital brought someone over to show him how to breastfeed his pups. His breasts had swollen and he began to lactate almost as soon after giving birth. Sherlock breastfed each and every one of his pups until they had their fill, ignoring John's presence through it all. Even when John embraced him and their pup in his arm, whispered how much he loved them and dotingly caressed their pup's cheek as he sucked on his teat. 

When Sherlock was discharged from the hospital, he continued to ignore John and Mycroft. Even when Mycroft arranged a sleek black van to take his whole family home. 

A week came and went and Sherlock hadn't spoken a word to John. He listened, _yes_. He listened to _everything_ , but he chose not to speak, because he knew if he even attempted to, he'd give way to sentiment. He was just a fraction away from bursting and he didn't want to give John the satisfaction of seeing just how emotional he could make him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We can't keep doing this, Sherlock." John spoke softly as Sherlock set the last of their pups in their crib. They all slept peacefully in the townhouse guest room, as 221B was still under construction.

They'd be staying longer in the townhouse as they'd asked for two extra bedrooms to be built. 

"Sherlock." John moved behind Sherlock as the omega pressed his hands around the railing of the crib and held tightly to it. Head bowed, eyes closed, Sherlock focused on his slow, measured breathing. 

"Love, please." John sounded pained, near tears, and that hurt Sherlock more than he cared to admit. 

A hand pressed to his shoulder and squeezed lightly, a hard body pressed against his own before John's arms wrapped around him and embraced him with affection.

"You don't pull away from me, even now, but this mental distance has been destroying me. Don't pull away from me, not like this, Sherlock."

"You lied to me." Sherlock found himself saying, breaking his silence at last, and didn't miss the sudden intake of breath from the alpha.

"I... I never meant to lie to you from the beginning. I felt helpless. Harry was dying and I was desperate. I would have done anything to save her life and mating you... I didn't want to start our union with a lie, but I promised myself I would treat you well. I fell for you at first sight. That wasn't a lie, but I couldn't tell you the truth. Mycroft made me agree not to tell you. He thought you wouldn't accept it."

"He knows nothing. I told you why I was marrying you. If you had told me then I would have accepted it, John. I... I might have been a bit distant, because I would have believed all I was to you was a contract, but I... I would have accepted it."

"I'm sorry. I should have told you, but don't question my feelings Sherlock. You have never been a contract to me. I always wanted you. I've loved you from the beginning. Victor-"

Sherlock tensed in John's arms at the mention of that name. He hated that omega. The omega that was still attempting to take away his alpha, though from John's words of the last week, Sherlock was starting to realize he'd been wrong. John might not want Victor after all, but the lies. The lies were what stuck and stung deep. 

"You don't love him?" Sherlock rasped what John had told him time and time again, yet still needing to hear it reaffirmed again. 

"I don't. Sherlock, I never thought of Victor as more than a friend. I love you. I want you. You, the mother of my pups, I want you."

"Harry... She's fine now?"

John's forehead pressed between Sherlock's shoulder blades as he exhaled a deep breath. 

"Yes. She is healthy now. I... I hate that I lied to you to ensure her life, but I don't regret marrying you. If I never agreed to marry you, I would have never known what real love is."

"You... hurt me."

The arms around his waist tightened and a nose nuzzled his back lovingly.

"I know. I regret hurting you. I never wanted you to find out like that."

"If I hadn't walked in when I did... you never would have told me the truth, would you, John?"

The long silence that followed was answer enough and Sherlock wasn't sure how he should feel about that. Maybe it would have been fine not knowing, but now that he knew what John had done it was hard to trust there wouldn't be another instance like it. 

"Are you... Are there any other secrets you're hiding from me?" Sherlock asked warily.

"No. I never wanted to lie to you Sherlock. I'm not hiding anything else."

"Have you spoken to Victor since that day?"

"I... I plan to. Only to clear things up."

"Why Victor? Why are you so... Why did you let him touch you like that?"

Those tight arms around his waist loosened. John gently tugged Sherlock's arm, turning the omega around to finally face him. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he met John's searching blue. 

" _Sherlock_. I... I don't have any feelings for Victor in that way, but..." John halted in his words, finding it difficult to voice his thoughts in this particular subject.

"But what?" Sherlock edged, uncomfortable with the pause. How thoughts of Victor Trevor could cause John to fall deep within his thoughts.

"I... The very reason I started spending time with Victor was because he understood me in a way not many can. I... When we married, you weren't the kindest or-" 

"John." Sherlock deadpanned. Hearing his alpha talk so kindly about Victor and bringing up how terrible of a mate he was in the beginning was not helping Sherlock any.

"I know. I'm sorry." John knew without Sherlock explaining how much he regretted the way he'd treated him in the beginning. "But you weren't there for me and I... being ignored and feeling unwanted... I empathized with Victor and his inability to find a mate who actually wanted him in return."

"I wanted you, John." Sherlock's face tensed with hurt and anger that John couldn't realize just how much he wanted him.

"I know that _now_ , but at that time I was struggling. I thought I'd remain in a loveless marriage - on your part, and that was painful. Thinking I would spend the rest of my life mated and married, but so alone, I latched onto Victor for comfort. We understood each other so well and I felt his pain as my own. I should have been more firm and less indulging, but I felt for Victor so much that I hesitated in hurting him when he confessed to me and I'm sorry for it hurting you. I never wanted to hurt you."

Sherlock stared John down, struggling to calm his anger brought on by hurt and tried to see things from John's point of view. He had been cruel and unfeeling. He had ignored John. So, could he really be angry that John sought to comfort and receive comfort from someone that was hurting as he was? 

Bowing his head in shame, Sherlock couldn't fault John. His alpha had a big heart and only ever wished to comfort others. That's why he was such a good doctor, friend, and mate. 

"I... I can understand why, but... I don't like it. I didn't like seeing you being touched like that by another omega."

John was in Sherlock's space in a matter of seconds and wrapping Sherlock in a close embrace. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Sherlock." John pressed his nose against Sherlock's left cheek, scent marking him as his hands ran a soothing path along his back. 

Sherlock knew John regretted lying. He knew he should forgive him and he wanted to. He really wanted to, but... he just couldn't forget the betrayal. 

"Tell me it's not true." Sherlock rasped weakly, feeling John tense in his arms before releasing him and taking a step back to search his features for an answer to what he was thinking. 

John's eyes shone with unshed tears at whatever he found in Sherlock's gaze. Maybe it was the inability to forgive. 

"There's no way you could have deceived me, not for an hour, a day, or weeks, but months, John. Months..."

John's eyes lowered with self-hate and grief at the desperation in Sherlock's plea.

"Tell me it's all just lies. That you didn't fool me for months. Because you don't do that to someone you love!" Sherlock's eyes stung as he blinked them repeatedly, striving to keep them from becoming too moist, but the tears fell at his broken words of distress. 

"I'm sorry." John repeated, raising his head and outstretching his arm, reaching out to palm one of Sherlock's wet cheeks. 

Sherlock wanted to shut his eyes and lean into the touch. He wanted to envelope himself in John's scent and forget the fact that he'd been duped. But he couldn't. It hurt too much to forget. So he jerked his face away from John's kind hand. 

"I should have told you. I should have ignored Mycroft's warnings. I _wanted_ to tell you, but I was so afraid of how you would respond. I didn't want to lose you." John wept softly, retrieving his outstretched hand to wipe away the wetness from his own face. 

"You hate me now. I know, and I'm so sorry. I messed up. I really messed up. But... I love you... I love you, Sherlock. With my every being, _I love you_."

Sherlock stared at John helplessly. In a room where their children lay sleeping, feeling vulnerable and weakened down by those powerful words. Words that once made Sherlock so happy to hear, now made his heart ache powerfully. 

"I'm telling you, I love you. There were lies, I know, but they never influenced my heart. My heart that has always and will forever be just yours, as well as my body and soul."

Sherlock's chin trembled with his voiceless sobs. It was futile to stop the tears from pouring from his eyes as he stared red-eyed at his mate - the alpha he still loved.

"I'll... I'll move out if... if that is what you want, but even if you don't want to live with me or see me, can I still come and see you? See our children?"

Sherlock had never so much as hinted to wanting John to leave. Because that wasn't what he wanted. Sherlock felt his heart clench as if held in a vice-like grip. The very idea of not having John by his side had him gasping for air among the hiccuping sobs. 

"I don't want you to leave... You should be around our children. They need you." 

_I need you._

"Our children need me..." John acknowledged, but there was something in his eyes that gave the impression there was more that needed to be said. Sherlock waited and watched intently as John sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit hard. "Does... Does that mean you don't... That you don't need me anymore?"

This was a significant moment, Sherlock realized. This was a moment that would shape their relationship for good. He could lie and therefore push the alpha away or he could say how he truly felt. 

John had lied to save his sister and sure in certain ways, John had done right by Harry. But in so doing, he'd started their relationship based on a lie. A lie, if Sherlock was truly being honest with himself, did not have any grounds on why they fell in love. Sherlock had fallen in love with John's character, not the lie. 

The answer wasn't if Sherlock could love John. It was if he could let go of one lie. One big lie, but a lie that Sherlock had to admit did not change the way he still loved John. Albeit it hurt, knowing he'd been a fool to the manipulations of his brother Mycroft- and what he suspected, his parents. 

"Oh hell, John!" Sherlock exhaled a huff of frustration as he reached out for the sorrowful alpha and pulled him by the arms into a tight embrace. "You are an idiot, but I still need you."

"Sherlock." The amazement in the alpha's voice did not go unnoticed.

Sherlock dipped his head into the crook of John's neck and inhaled his scent. 

"You hurt me. I'm not going to lie. It might take time to trust you as completely as I once did, but... I can't fault your love for your sister. It was the reason for your lie. It wasn't made with cruel intentions, so I will forgive you this once."

"Sherlock." John whined, overwhelmed.

"But if you lie to me again... _I swear John_ -"

"I won't." John cut in with firmness, smiling wildly against the skin of Sherlock's scent gland.

Sherlock shut his eyes, hiding the lingering pain of being wounded by this lie and focused on the fact that John loved him and that it was his love for him and their pups that would prove his fidelity. 

"John... I need your love, more than I need life."

John didn't reply in words, but when heated lips pressed against his scent gland Sherlock felt heartened by the meaningful action.

  



End file.
